Fate Intervenes
by Lily Severn
Summary: Elizabeth and Jack's relationship progresses further as the past of Captain Barbossa is slowly revealed. What of Will and his new life on Tortuga? Fate truly intervenes as love, lies, and intrigue ensnare all. COMPLETE.
1. What You Fail to See

**Fate Intervenes**

* * *

**Chapter One : What You Fail to See**

The skies overhead trembled with thunder, shedding water droplets through the gale. Water collected in the bone china tea cups with the small crimson roses, spilled into the equally as delicate saucers. It ran along the folds of her gown, drenching the silk and lace, plastering her chocolate curls to her head.

Elizabeth Swann blinked, her cosmetics sliding down her sharp, pale cheekbone like ink. She bit her lip, curling her hands in her lap and twisting the fabric of her dress.

_Perfect_. It had all gone off so smoothly, of course. Will would never expect, never find the smoking musket in her hand. These fragile hands, easily broken but more apt to break. Hearts, mostly. How many men had she locked gazes with, made weak-kneed and hopeful, only to slice their desperation into tiny, inedible slivers when she turned her back? She had drawn her corsets tighter, applied her rouge more obviously, only to have it amount to what attraction?

That of a pirate.

And a condemned pirate nonetheless; just her luck. Just her style. To have all of the notes on the harpsichord fall into place, and one string warp out of tune.

She missed him now, looking out over the slate and cobalt sea, the mist rising from the churning, white-tipped waves. Rain continued to fall, disrupting the natural order of things, as order was meant to be disrupted. Normalcy was no longer commonplace, it was faulty and deceptive.

She knew this, because she had once loved Will.

The boyish charm, the toned figure, the bright eyes. Yes. The markings of a dutiful husband, caring father, nurturer and provider until death. And then what? A name on his grave and a cold emptiness in her heart…nothing more.

But Jack…She allowed herself a clandestine smile, a smile of crumpled red autumn leaves, struggling to show their beauty, but smothered by snow. He was so vivid, witty, cunning…cutlass-sharp and with a keen eye that saw the sea for what it was: freedom.

Hadn't she always wanted freedom?

With rum on his breath and a smoky scent in his shirtsleeves, mingled with perspiration and sea salt, he had held her close, telling her tales of all the world's riches: the green waxy leaves of Borneo, the forbidden wastelands of Tunisia, the hostile waters beyond Capes she'd never envisioned. All in his head, all in his heart. He had seen them all, or invented each, it didn't matter…he longed for the bonds to be severed with the land, to plunge into the sea and breathe in the brine.

Of course, he would never admit such passion, locking her in a comforting embrace as he swallowed bottle after bottle of hidden alcohol. When she had burned it, the defeat in his eyes was not from the lack of beverage…it was because he had not had the freedom or ability to stop her.

And neither could she stop him. While the pirate crew, crusty and yellow-bellied as they were, muttered "Poppet" to her, she was Will's "bonnie lass", the woman to woo, the woman to hold. She was not a scullery-maid in gauze, she was a woman in silk.

She knew being with Jack wouldn't amount to gold, to thick-weave rugs and expensive wines. No. It would be moldy ships, captain's quarters late at night with faded playing cards and chipped dice, with Cotton and Ragetti.

Was that so bad? Was that a topple from the top, for a society girl? From an ocean to a puddle?

She laughed softly. " Rather, in reverse."

She stood, gathering her skirts. It was folly to muse over the past when it could not be changed. Jack would be set free, she knew it. Their plans would swiftly move into motion, and hopefully the casket would be set adrift any day. She hoped he had found a way to escape unharmed.

--

Standing later in Tia Dalma's moldy hut, listening to the sounds of the heady, warm jungle outside, Elizabeth felt her eyes visibly widen as Barbossa's leather boots tramped down the creaky wooden stairs. The sweat that had stuck beneath her vest and behind her ears turned cold, the sticky sensation evaporating.

Hector Barbossa? Here?

He delivered his quip, taking a ravenous bite out of the absurdly green apple in his hand. He twisted it in his fingers, bejeweled, but clean, thinner almost. He looked more human now, radiant in a healthy way that was not associated with pirates. He smiled at her, his teeth still gray and mismatched, like crooked gravestones.

"Ah, the lass is still with us, I see," he said. " 'Tis a pleasure to be sailin' with you, again, madame."

Will Turner stood, his dark eyes fierce, stirring. Her heart leapt. _Don't_. " She's not going with you! She's not a filthy pirate, she's a respectable _lady_."

Barbossa threw back his head and laughed. " Oh, is that what you think, then? Is that why she still tastes the rum on Jack's lips?"

Will turned to her, his eyes narrow. There was pain in those eyes, a deep pain she didn't want to acknowledge. She looked away, her brown locks, sun-bleached and tangled from the salty wind, falling into her face. She wanted them to wipe her face away. Like swabbing a deck, she thought bitterly, but with a hint of hope. Would Barbossa take her with him? She could find Jack, they could run away, they could sail with Castor and Pollux behind them…

Unable to stand the burning in his eyes, she stood, her lips set defiantly. She threw open the crooked door, rattling various beads and skulls. The scent of jasmine and rotting fruit followed her, but she didn't care. She stood outside, her arms crossed. Hot tears threatened in the corners of her eyes.

Soft footsteps bent the floorboards behind her. She turned, wiping her face hastily. Will stood, brass clasps gleaming. He looked like Norrington, all made up with straps and laces.

" I saw you, Elizabeth." His voice was hushed, an agonized whisper. She sniffled, but did not unlock her gaze from his. " I saw you kiss Jack." He swallowed, his Adam's apple protruding from his pale skin. Pale, milky, boyish. Not tanned and rough from days on the sea, evenings on the beach with amber rum. " Tell me you didn't mean it. Tell me it was a…a flight of fancy."

Elizabeth said the words slowly, moving her lips carefully, as if each word scalded them. Her eyes fell to the floorboards, to her feet in boots that weren't hers. " It wasn't." She looked at him, full on now. " I meant it, Will."

Will stammered, " How? How can you love him? He's…he's cunning, he's ruthless…he'd kill me if he had to!"

Elizabeth wanted to flail her hands in the air as she would have even a week ago, to stamp her feet and parade out Tia Dalma's hut. But her choices were limited to facing Barbossa again, or climbing ungracefully down the ladder to the waiting boats in the grimy water. She couldn't explain to Will the myriad emotions flying through her head, white gulls caught on a draft of ocean air, awry.

Will spoke for her. " The…the impulsive, fearless, dashing approach…you love it, do you? You want to end up some pirate's…wench…" She flinched. " On a greasy boat with men who just want you to--"

She wanted to reach out and put a finger over his lips, but she was afraid, suddenly, to touch him. " It's not like that, Will. Not at all. He is--"

" A foul, loathsome pirate! He would leave you on the nearest island, Elizabeth, because of those ridiculous pirate legends! And the second you were gone and out of sight, he'd forget all about you! He is a man without any--"

Elizabeth shouted, her eyes fierce, " He is a man of good conscience and kind spirit!"

Will's lips curled. " I fail to see any such--"

Elizabeth countered, leaning forward," What you fail to see is that he loves me. Jack Sparrow loves me, Will. He cares for my safety, he…he knows how badly I want to be free, to be away from the life I've lived. Port Royal offers me nothing, Will. He offers me everything." She felt emotions rising in her, saw the hurt in his eyes, but didn't suppress them. " And right now, he's who knows where…I can't live with knowing that he's died. Jack Sparrow is a strong man, he will come back. He'll do it for me. And I'm not going to abandon him."

Will said softly, " But you'll abandon me."

A single tear fell from Elizabeth's cheek. " Yes," she whispered hurriedly. She turned away from him, flinging open the door. Barbossa was sitting next to Tia Dalma, poring over a wrinkled map. He looked up as she entered.

" Ye've got a choice, my dear," he said, the familiar lilt of his voice settling into Elizabeth's ears. Even now, in full pirate regalia, black and foreboding and dripping with as much sarcasm as rum, Barbossa was not threatening. The Kraken wasn't even threatening anymore.

What loomed over her was the loss of Jack…trapped somewhere beyond her ability to find him, beneath the waves or in the monster's jaws…or worse. She felt threatened by what she could not control.

Barbossa continued, his eyes like pieces of flint. " Ye can stay with me, aboard whatever ship I manage to procure at the expense of some rather…questionable men on Tortuga, and venture off with my crew to find the missing Jack…Or you can remain here, with this…" His lips curled. " Fine crew."

Will entered, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorjamb sullenly. Tia Dalma's bloodshot eyes watched him, but she remained silent. A knowing smile crept onto her lips.

Elizabeth straightened, tightening her jaw and injecting a ferocity into her eyes. She swept back her hair and said decisively," I wish to search for Jack with you, Captain Barbossa. On the condition that you allow me to participate in all efforts, and do not cast me off simply because I am a woman."

Barbossa grinned, flashing his horrendous teeth. He worked his jaw, as if chewing the possibility of having her. " It would be a pleasure to have you on board, Miss Swann."

He reached out a hand cordially, and she shook it firmly, grasping it and looking into his eyes. As he marked the map before him with a long black quill, muttering and sketching, she watched, her eyes sharp and discerning.

She didn't look at Will once.

--

Thank you for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: All recognizable quotes ,characters, settings, plot, and imagery are property of Walt Disney Pictures, and the respective filming companies associated with all Pirates of the Caribbean films. No copyright infringement is intended in the writing, posting, reading, or reviewing of this work.


	2. The Silver Dagger

**Fate Intervenes**

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Silver Dagger**

The sail to Tortuga was uneventful, the weather calm and the sky a clear blue. Elizabeth leaned on the railing, letting the wind run its cool fingers through her hair, sighing in happiness. The fine mist of the sea tickled her face, and she grinned, the first time in a long while. Barbossa, it seemed, had had his own ship, moored on the opposite side of Tia Dalma's island. It moved through the sea easily, swiftly.

Sitting between a barrel of herring and a crate of rope, Will watched her, his eyes heavy, his lips turned down. He struck a small dagger against a piece of drift wood over and over, whittling his anger away. Was it anger? She didn't know. Will was impossible to read now, blank. Impressionable as a newly forged blade, still red-hot. He knew of those things, but what he did not know of was how to properly love someone, she presumed. How to show emotion without feeling foolish, how to let go. Life wasn't a fencing match; he had to learn to let his guard down.

Barbossa approached her, his plumed hat perched perfectly atop his head, his eyes bright with expectation. She could almost see him, calculating the ammunition and supplies, the crew and provisions they would need. " If ye're going to be on my ship," he said suddenly, standing next to her, " ye're going to need to learn how to contribute."

Elizabeth thought for a moment, squinting against the sun. " Teach me how to fire the long nines," she said suddenly.

Barbossa chuckled, a deep rumble of gravel and seaweed in his chest. " Ah, no. That's not for a woman to be swingin' round. We'll get some halfwit from Tortuga who wants naught but an ale and a star to sail by. Can't think for themselves, some pirates, but they can shoot with one eye if need be."

" Why is that?" she asked, as he turned away. He stopped, pivoted, and stared at her.

" Beg yer pardon?"

" Why can pirates never seem to formulate a singular thought alone? Must their lives, their actions…must they be dictated?"

Barbossa straightened, adjusting his belt, upon which hung skeleton keys, a pistol, and an array of sharp, glittering objects that Elizabeth didn't want to gaze too long at. " A pirate crew is like the waves, Miss Swann. There's got to be something to move them, something to keep them on the current course, and something to tell them when to retreat. Waves just sort of…float on, if ye will. They brush against the rocks because it's what they're told to do, they make a mess of things and don't regret it. They have no choice. They can destroy whole ships or make beauty out of driftwood." He jerked a thumb to Will, who stared at the whittled piece sullenly. " If they don't cooperate proper, ye get a storm. And 'tis a fierce one. Jack knows all about it. The mutinies and such."

Elizabeth nodded, seeing this man in a new light. She trusted him, now more than ever, to bring Jack back to her. He was a man of the sea, truly, who had seemed to brave many battles and see many things she never wished to see. Scars crossed his face, and, she saw, his hand. They were old, weather-beaten marks of tragedy, or perhaps valor.

Barbossa coughed. " The winds'll be changing soon," he said gruffly. He pointed to the sky. " See the way those clouds there are a'gathering? The darkness? It creeps over you, like a bad dream, makin' the shadows on the deck long and dark, until you can't see the sun. Waves will wash up." He pounded the deck with his boot. " But this boat's sturdy. She'll take us to Tortuga, and to the ends of the earth, mark it. She's a fine ship. Not quite the _Pearl_," he said with an uncharacteristic sadness, " But a ship nonetheless." He sniffed. " When we reach Tortuga, which'll be around nightfall, we'll dock in port and raise a crew in the morning."

He walked away, still staring at the sky, humming quietly to himself. He opened the door to the captain's quarters, gave her one last meaningful glance, and then closed them quietly.

Elizabeth's eyes flicked to where Will sat, his head leaning against the side of the ship. His dark hair was stringy and matted, tangled and wet. It hung over his face like a fishing net, obscuring his features. She sighed delicately, barely exhaling. Looking up, she saw that Barbossa had not closed the doors to his quarters all the way. Carefully unbuttoning the top clasp of her vest, and rolling up her sleeves, she walked closer, edging the door open with her foot. " Captain?"

The room was sparse, dim, not at all decorated as richly as the _Pearl_'s captain's quarters. The main space was occupied by a desk, littered with parchments, lighted candles, and ink-spotted quills. Large bowls, full of ripened apples, were scattered about, and at the end of this table Barbossa sat, his hat on the back of his plush chair. He had his hair pulled back with a thick black ribbon, and his fingers were played over the table, sliding a compass over a map. He looked up as she entered. " Mind the door."

Elizabeth closed it behind her, ensuring that it clicked softly. " Captain, are we truly sailing for Tortuga, or is this a diversion?"

Barbossa laughed, raspy and wet. " If ye think this is a trap, Miss Swann, ye've taken me for the wrong sort of pirate. I seek to find Jack as much as you do. Though, admittedly," he added, flashing a smile, "not for the same reasons."

Elizabeth's lips tightened. " If you intend to mock me, Captain, I shall leave."

Barbossa stood, circling to a candelabra and lighting it. The orange flames flickered pathetically in the perpetual damp and dim of the quarters. Barbossa, however, seemed rather satisfied. " I've not come to make a fool of you, Miss Swann. ' Tis not my intent to defile a lady's character. But there are matters regarding Tortuga that need to be discussed openly." He reached for an apple. " Care for one?"

Elizabeth shook her head. " No, thank you."

He took a bite, the juice sluicing down his face. " There's nothin' more satisfyin' on this earth than to taste, Miss Swann. To finally have the tangible, the real feelin' of something…pure. Without it, there's an ache in your bones that won't go away. It eats at you before you can eat at it." He took another savage bite. " ' Tis a horrible way to be livin'….or dyin'."

Elizabeth felt her heart constrict, and she gripped the nearest chair for balance.

Barbossa shook his head. " Oh, now, Miss Swann. The sea's but a calm piece of glass today." But she could tell by his tone that he had perceived her pain. He pulled a seat closer to his own and offered it to her. She sat slowly, staring at the map.

" What's this?"

Barbossa grinned. " This is how we're goin' to find Jack."

Elizabeth squinted, trying to decipher the spidery writing on the brown parchment, ignoring the blood stains and ripped edges. " And what about Davy Jones?" she asked slowly.

Barbossa looked, for a moment, surprised that she knew of the infamous pirate, but also troubled. " We'll deal with that problem should it arise. Davy believes Jack's dead, and with that on our side we shouldn't have any cause for alarm."

Elizabeth reached over and touched Barbossa's wrist. He looked up. " Tell me of Jones," she said quietly. " Why he….why he cut his own heart out. Surely the pain of his loss was not that terrible."

Barbossa bit his lip. " ' Tis a story not to be told when the weather's as bleak as it is, Miss Swann." He gestured to the aft windows, yawning on the back of the ship. Heavy black curtains hung on either side. Dark clouded swirled. " Tales of Davy Jones are best told when the weather's fair."

Elizabeth's voice was soft. " Pirate superstitions." Barbossa snapped his head back to look at her.

Barbossa stared deep into her eyes, his own, dark and chilly, suddenly softening. " When there's a feeling in your very soul you can't control, Miss Swann, a cravin' for what you cannot have, it becomes as natural as the air ye breathe to feel the sorrow every waking moment. I know what it's like, perpetual death. To long for skin and warmth. Imagine bein' as close as Davy was to that kind of happiness, and losin' it all. Imagine that kind of terror. He can't die now, he's one with the sea, he and his blasted crew. I'd put 'em all in the hellfire if only to save them from the misery they're doomed to suffer."

Elizabeth was taken aback by this passionate discourse. " But, to be that lonely? To love that deeply…Could he not see that, perhaps, things weren't--"

Barbossa chuckled. " 'Meant to be'?" he finished sourly. " That sort of thing exists in naught but stories, Miss. Everyone loses their happy ending, it's just when the book ends that makes it a tragedy or a simple fact of livin'." A deep sadness settled on his features. His eyes became darker, his mouth relaxed and more solemn. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly. " Pirates, now. We make our own tales and our own legends. A man makes a myth of himself so that when everything goes wrong, when he feels that cold, cold blade in his belly for the last time, he knows he can't die. No matter how many he's killed or how low he gets, he'll never die, himself."

" Are you saying Davy _didn't_ lose a woman he loved?" Elizabeth asked.

" No. I'm sayin' that Jack Sparrow may not be all you believe him to be. He may have secrets of his own, stories he tells you while the brandy's still warm that make you believe somethin' you've no need to believe."

Elizabeth stood. " Jack is not a liar."

Barbossa shook his head. " No, he's not, Miss Swann. But the _tales_ of him are not all true. The Kraken's got him, and I'm only hopin' that the legends last until we find him."

--

The island of Tortuga was glittering with candlelight and torch flame when they arrived in port. Barbossa, dressed to the fullest, looking more a captain than ever with his frilled lace cuffs and shined silver buttons, walked down the gangplank first. The rhythm of his leather boots tapping on the wood, commanding, heavy, set all surrounding eyes to looking up. One man crossed himself as the Captain, an image of black, strode by.

The nearest inn, _The Rotten Barnacle_, had its doors flung open, music and laughter seeping into the street like its ales. Barbossa took one look inside, sighed heavily, and walked through. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the music died abruptly, the clinking of tankards stopped, and the room fell silent.

" If any of ye intend to live a life of drudgery, moral rectitude, and service to the King," he said loudly, arching his back and throwing his voice about, " remain where ye sit and die a coward." He took a step, his pistol swinging at his hip. " However, if ye feel the sea in yer blood, let any man willing to lay his life upon the mast come forward."

Several men, tanned, oiled, and glittering dangerously with various weapons, stood, removing their hats. Three men in the back, in rumpled coats and dirty boots, shuffled to their feet. Slowly, as Barbossa turned his head, watching every man, locking gazes with every one, thirty men stood. Each was strong and able, muscles bulging beneath shirtsleeves. Tattoos and markings, piercing and scars traced their bodies like trading routes on an unfurled map.

Barbossa nodded once, turning to Elizabeth, who had once more disguised herself as a man, though not as convincingly this time. If she was to come upon Jack, she wanted him to recognize her. " We've got ourselves a crew, then." He reached into his coat and opened a scroll, tied with a black ribbon. " Make your mark here on this roster, and welcome aboard _The Silver Dagger._"


	3. Saying Goodbye

**Fate Intervenes**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Saying Goodbye**

The roster was full, signed with the names of roughly thirty men, and Barbossa read over it with a keen eye, placing a pair of silver spectacles on his nose. Elizabeth had never seen him use them before.

" Immortality had its advantages," Barbossa said coolly. " Namely, that one never dies, and therefore, never ages."

Elizabeth could not find the courage to ask his age, but his quick and hushed reply of, " Forty-eight", beneath his breath silenced any questions she had.

Looking around, she tried to find Will, who had followed them onto shore and subsequently disappeared. Winding between notched tables, overturned stools, and the bodies of drunken sailors, she sought out his familiar face in the _Barnacle_. But he was not to be found. Biting her lip, she turned, nodding once to Barbossa before ducking out the door, into the muddy streets.

The taverns and ramshackle homes of Tortuga's residents were all open to the night air, the scents of spices, damp earth, and alcohol drifting on the tropical breeze. Elizabeth missed the stinging salt of the sea, the familiar crashing of waves against a hull…even the thunderous roar of the current at Port Royal. Tortuga was calmer geographically, but she knew she wouldn't find what _that_ couple in the shadows seemed to be doing at Port Royal. She squinted, then jerked away, repulsed.

She knew Will wouldn't wander far, as he was unfamiliar with this territory, and disinclined to befriend any pirates. At least, not any she had met so far.

As she continued searching, poking her head into various inns and shadier places of business, she grew disheartened. She needed to find him before they left, to sail to who knew where. Barbossa seemed to be completely calm in his plans, and she trusted his judgment.

But could she trust her own?

--

Will stared into her eyes, a deep, watery blue. Her blonde hair was curled into ringlets, her breasts pushed up invitingly into her cranberry corset. The black laces were obviously undone, and her lipstick was smeared only slightly. The air around them was hot and stuffy, the inn dim and dusty.

" You've got such wonderful hands," the woman mused, grasping Will's hands and twirling her bejeweled fingers around his own pale ones. " What exactly do you…do with them?"

Will cleared his throat. " Blacksmith," was all he managed to say before her toes snuck up his pant leg.

" Interesting," she said softly, her lips barely moving. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. She looked at his chest, reached a finger over and started to untie the laces in his shirt. " How long are you going to be in Tortuga?" she asked loftily. She sighed piteously, batting her eyelashes. " It gets so lonely here…especially at night."

Will coughed, uncomfortable. " I'm sorry to hear that, Miss…"

The woman laughed easily. " Jeanette." She offered no last name. " Jeanette," she repeated.

Will nodded, whispering her name. He looked at his glass of ale, picked it up, and took a long drink. What was he doing here? Nothing more than entertaining a woman for sale for a few moments, he didn't intend to do anything with her. He wanted to find Elizabeth, tell her he was staying. He couldn't watch her struggle to find Jack, worrying for him every day while he stood by, loving her all the same. Part of him said he couldn't stay here, either, temptation would grip him and he would succumb to his urges, or the urges of others. He couldn't say which.

Jeanette stood and turned, adjusting one of her ripped stockings. Her lace garter slipped, and she seductively rolled it back up her thigh. Will's eyes traveled no further. He coughed. She suddenly threw herself on him, her hands sliding up over his abdomen and onto his chest.

Will stood quickly, backing away. His glass fell to the floor and shattered. " I'm sorry…I can't do this."

Jeanette pouted. " But I was just getting to know you…"

Will sneered, " Yes, but I do not wish to know you." He laid several coins on the table and left, pushing open the doors and inhaling the sweet scent of the night, letting his oppressed lungs expand. He collapsed against the wall, his hair and scalp damp with sweat. He found a dark alleyway, and was about to walk down it when a hand pressed onto his shoulder firmly.

" Will?"

He pivoted. Elizabeth was staring at him intently, her eyes wide. " Barbossa's raised a crew; we're leaving soon. The roster's full."

" I'm not going."

" What?"

" I'm not going, Elizabeth." Will stared at her, then remembered his shirt was undone. He hastily tried the leather strips, his fingers shaking.

" I thought Jack was your friend!" Elizabeth replied heatedly, her hands planted on her hips. She was not, at this moment, a very convincing man.

" Acquaintance," Will corrected her for what promised to be, in his mind, the first in a long line of such clarifications.

Elizabeth sighed. " Is this what you want? To stay here with…" Jeanette stood in the doorway, her corset much looser than before. Her eyes narrowed. " Ah. I see. Cheap pleasures."

Will growled, " It's not like that. I can't go with you, Elizabeth. I can't search for Jack. My heart's not in it."

Elizabeth hissed, " You said you'd do whatever it took to find him, to bring him back…you said if there was something you could have done, you'd have done it." Her eyes watered, and her jaw trembled. " You promised."

Will shook his head. " I did no such thing, Elizabeth. I told Tia Dalma I would travel to the ends of the earth when it was just Jack we were looking for, just him. Not you and him, not so that I could watch you two explore the islands of the Realm. I don't want to see you run off with him, only to be used, and hurt, or worse."

Elizabeth shouted, " I don't need your protection, Will! I'm not some…some porcelain doll you sit on your shelf and dress with finery and jewels and can never move."

Will sighed. " That's never what I intended. I just don't want you to make decisions you are going to regret later."

Elizabeth sniffed. " I don't regret anything. Not a single thing. My life is mine to live, Will."

Will growled, " As is mine." He turned and walked away, then, realizing he had left her there, in the street, he came back.

Holding onto her elbows, he said softly, " I still love you, Elizabeth. With everything in my body and soul, I love you. Promise me…if this search for Jack turns out to be nothing but a hopeless undertaking…you'll come back to me." He traced her jaw line with his finger. " Promise me you won't forget about me."

Elizabeth smiled sadly. " How could I forget about you, William Turner?" Quickly, she stood onto her tiptoes, kissed his cheek, and walked away, disappearing into the night.

For the first time in his life, Will felt the burn of tears.

--

_The Silver Dagger_ waited patiently at port, gently rising and falling with the waves, now inky black. The white moon cast dappled shadows across the water. Elizabeth sat on deck, wrapped in an itchy wool blanket, holding a mug of something that tasted vaguely like tea.

Leaning her head against the mast, she closed her eyes, letting herself slip into dream, the gentle rocking of the boat lulling her. Her lips relaxed, her feet slid along the deck, and the mug hung at an awkward angle from her fingers.

She saw, like a horrible nightmare, the Kraken, rising out of the depths of the sea, engulfing the _Black Pearl_ and dragging it beneath the waves, the mast splintering, debris littering the white foaming ocean, the sails rumpled and torn. She heard Jack screaming, tearing at the beast, chained to the mast…his brown eyes wide, his mouth forming a horrified howl as the beast's teeth loomed ever nearer…the last thing she ever said to him replaying in his mind, as he bitterly cursed her name before death…

Elizabeth bolted upright, drenched in a cold sweat, screaming. The mug clattered to the deck, the hot liquid scalding her hand. She thrust her fingers into her mouth, doubled over in remembrance and pain. Tears dripped down her nose, and she curled tighter upon herself, trying to erase the fictitious memory.

" _Pirate."_

Footsteps approached her, and the form of Barbossa knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. " Miss Swann?"

Gibbs rushed forward from the aft deck, tucking his hip flask away and reaching into his pocket for a spotted handkerchief. " Miss Swann…was it an apparition you saw? The ghost of Captain Jack, perhaps?"

Barbossa glared, his teeth clenched. Gibbs tried a softer approach. " Tortuga plagues the mind and the soul, Miss Swann. Don't let anything you've seen here afflict you none. The tide'll turn, you'll see, we'll be sailin' in the morning for Jack and we'll find him, mark my words, we will. A crew never deserts their captain."

Barbossa looked uncomfortable. Gibbs corrected, " Well, rarely deserts their captain."

Elizabeth sniffed, wiping her eyes. They were red and puffy now, and she stared at the faces of the haggard men before her. " What have I done?"

Gibbs rested a thick hand on her shoulder. " Oh, now, you did nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Swann. ' Twas Jack's idea to stay behind, Captain as he was, good and true through to the bone. Her Blessed Son knows he was a man of honor and valor…"

Elizabeth shook her head. " I chained him to the mast," she said softly, her voice heavy with sorrow and shame. " I knew the beast was looking for him, not for us…we had to escape, we had to leave the _Pearl_ behind. I made him do it."

Barbossa's lips worked for a moment. " Ye…ye sacrificed the _Pearl_ to the Kraken? Is that what the lot of ye did to her? Plunged her beneath the waves, with his bones a'strapped to her?"

Elizabeth sobbed, " I'm sorry the bloody ship means more to you than---"

Gibbs shook his head. " If Jack's still on the _Pearl_, he's got a chance." He hung his head, clenching his fist, shaking it. " He's got a fightin' chance, so he does."

Barbossa stared out at the horizon. " If the Kraken's beneath, and the _Pearl_ with it--"

Gibbs stared at him. " What other chance do we have? We check there first, Captain, is my venture. If the Kraken's nowhere to be found, we search out Davy Jones. Surely since he controls the beast, they can't be more than a league apart."

Barbossa scratched his chin thoughtfully. " Perhaps 'tis the best course of action. The _Pearl_'s got a curse on her so brutal the devil himself wouldn't dare set foot on her lest we branded him first. She protects her own. As do we, as men of the sea." He looked at Elizabeth. " And, I suppose, a woman of the sea."

Elizabeth whispered, " Jack called me a pirate before I left him."

Barbossa's eyebrows raised. " Did he now? Well, that bodes well for our quest, does it not? Pirates all, aboard this ship."

Elizabeth looked up at him. " So there's hope, then? Jack isn't completely lost?"

Barbossa nodded slowly. " Jack's got a spirit in him won't die even if Davy himself puts him in a locker of his own. Men have gone mad seein' and livin' what Jack's been through, and he's not changed a bit."

Elizabeth smiled, thinking of this. The Jack she knew, the Jack she loved, untouched by time and suffering. If only she had spared him one last trial. " I suppose you'll have to brand me then?"

Barbossa lifted her hand, sliding back her sleeve. " On this purest of skin? Fairest of fair? I think not, Miss Swann. 'Tis what dwells in your soul, one with the sea and the brine, that matters in the makin' of a pirate. Any man can burn his flesh, but 'tisn't every man will die for the flesh of another."

Gibbs straightened. " I'd take a blade for any of these men, mark it."

Barbossa said chillingly., " I suppose you would. The time may come when one--or several--of us may have to. 'Tis a burden I'm not quite familiar with yet, but once we find Jack I'm sure mortality and I will become better…acquainted." He stood, helping Elizabeth to her feet. He looked at her burned hand. " Clean and wrap this, Miss Swann. I'll find our heading. We sail at dawn."

--

The morning sun rose, pink and gray, staining the horizon in muted light. Elizabeth stood on deck, the cool wind on her face. Barbossa stood before her, at the helm, straight and tall, casting an imposing shadow. A compass outstretched, and a map opened before him, held fast to the railing with a small dagger, he pointed their course. " Hard a'port!" he shouted, spinning the helm, and turning the ship to the left. It obeyed with the wind it had in its sails, righting the ship and pointing her to the open sea. " We search for the _Pearl_, and if what we seek be not there…" He trailed off, then turned and spoke to Elizabeth.

" …We sail on Miss Swann's word."


	4. Willing to Die or Desperate to Live?

**Fate Intervenes**

* * *

**Chapter Four : Willing to Die or Desperate to Live? **

Hector Barbossa paced in his quarters, but the movement was not that of an unsure, quivering man. It was that of a man who knew his course, knew the dangers, and wasn't willing to sacrifice any shred of dignity to achieve his ends. The pacing itself sprung from the fact that he, for the first time in his life, was sailing with a woman on board and didn't know how to handle it.

He sat on the edge of his bed, a large, thick mattress with a blood red duvet and black pillows. He ran his hand over it. It was as morbid as he was, unyielding and forbidding almost, not keen to be touched. He flexed his fingers, staring at them dismally. Now, the time in his life had come when he could feel, could run his fingers on cool metal, marred wood, the skin of a pure red apple…and for what? To chase a pirate he knew would be mangled at the bottom of the sea, or at least psychologically broken.

Looking at Elizabeth today, feeling the warmth of her beating heart for the first time, holding her wrist, with such silken skin…his heart had nearly stopped itself. She was so beautiful, so full of life and intensity, so strong. Exactly what Jack needed, the constant in his life. If only there was a life left for him.

And what if they didn't find Jack? What if Elizabeth needed another pirate in her life? Another man strong enough to control her fiery spirit, but never tame it?

He turned his head, catching a glimpse of his face in a silver platter of dried fruit, piled high. Disgusted, he curled his lips, standing and swiping it to the floor with a hand. Angrily, he reached for his goblet of wine, drank it, and threw it to the floor, where it smashed into tiny crystalline pieces.

He collapsed to the floor, his head in his hands. Elizabeth deserved Jack, deserved him in all of his young, energetic spirit. Not this shell of a man, this broken husk of a pirate captain.

He hoped he could find Jack, if not for his honor as a man…for her happiness as a woman.

--

Elizabeth woke in the middle of the night, to the sounds of the ship gently rocking, the creak of the mooring lines, and the gentle rumble of barrels sliding across the uneven boards. She stood, mindful of her thin lace nightgown, leaving it untied slightly at her chest, her brown hair falling loosely to her shoulders. Barefoot, she opened the door to her cabin, as she was the only crew member given private quarters, and stepped onto the deck. The sky was perfectly clear, the moon unobstructed by even the wispiest of veil-like clouds.

She stood, leaning into the wind and closing her eyes. She took a deep breath, inhaling the sharp salt. Cool mist sprayed her face lightly, a thousand oceanic kisses. She smiled, laughing softly.

Walking across the deck, she stared at the mast, towering above her. Ropes crisscrossed it, bloodstains and oil marks riddled its surface. Above her, higher, the sails were spread, catching the barest breath of wind.

She set her hand on the railing, then recoiled with a scream as she felt the soft, wet touch of a tentacle. Gasping, she stumbled backward, falling onto the deck. Terrified, and fighting for breath, she screamed, " The Kraken! Captain!"

Barbossa flung the doors to his quarters opened, dressed in white shirtsleeves and knickers. He pulled his boots on as he came, then fastened his belt around his waist. He reached for his pistol, firing one ear-shattering blast into the soft flesh of the Kraken. The tentacle sank down, slipping into the waves. " Miss Swann, get back to yer quarters!" he yelled over the sudden crash of the sea as the Kraken tipped the boat. He struggled to prevent himself from slipping aft, and gripped the nearest ladder.

Elizabeth hurried to her rooms, ripping off her nightdress and slipping into her pants and jacket. Hastily buttoning it, she reached for the gun she'd saved from the _Pearl_. Checking to be sure it was loaded, she burst back onto the deck.

The Kraken had one of its tentacles wrapped around the prostrate form of Barbossa, whose eyes, while wide, were not afraid. The other tentacle held in it but one thing, covered in the egg-like, white material which the Kraken's jaws spewed forth.

Gibbs ran at the Kraken with a rusted harpoon, thrusting it into the tentacle which gripped the captain. It wiggled loose for a moment, then constricted tighter. Barbossa wheezed, " Cannon…get the cannon, Gibbs!" The Kraken raised him higher, other tentacles twisting round the ship, reaching for more members of the crew.

Elizabeth rushed to the cannon, crouching low and springing back on her heels to pivot it around. Gibbs aimed and loaded it, pushing the gunpowder and ammunition in with greasy, calloused hands. She jumped back, readying her rifle lest the cannon shot failed.

The roar of the cannon thundered in her ears as it tore through the air, embedding itself into the Kraken. The tentacle released, dropping Barbossa to the deck, where he lay still.

Elizabeth rushed forward, firing random shots at it, until at last it retreated beneath the waves. She looked out on the horizon, and saw the dreaded, skeletal form of the _Flying Dutchman_ looming in fog and mist.

On the deck, she saw, was the object the Kraken had been holding. She carefully, gingerly, pulled off tendrils of the phlegm-like material. The object was a coat, a brown, leather jacket. She held it up to her face, sniffing it deeply. It smelled of death, of a sour stench not unlike vomit, and…

Rum.

With tears in her eyes, she whispered, "Jack." She threw it on, pushing her arms through the sleeves, wanting to feel its heavy warmth on her. Instead, she felt a dry, rough scrap of parchment. Withdrawing her hands, and clenching it in one of her fists, she read what was scrawled on it.

Barbossa stumbled forward, a streak of blood across his forehead, nothing more. Wiping at it with a black handkerchief, he muttered, " So Davy's managed to find a quill in hell, has he?"

Elizabeth's hand quivered.

_Jack is with me. I believe he owes me one hundred souls. Find them and I shall give you his body. You will receive him alive only if these souls arrive on board my ship in three days. No more, no less. And tell your Captain that he's more than welcome for his…gift._

_Davy Jones._

Barbossa reached for the parchment, and immediately the skin of his hand sizzled, an acrid stench filling the air. He glanced at his palm, briefly. The black spot appeared, pulsing and burning. " So it's a debt we owe him, for the sake of Jack's life."

Elizabeth could barely speak. " He's alive…" She clutched the coat tighter, inhaling its scents, ill and good. Tears fell down her face, and she didn't bother to hide them. " Jack's alive. There's still hope." She looked up at Barbossa, and wiped at the blood trickling into his eye. " The spot…does it hurt, Captain?"

Barbossa shook his head. " 'Tis nothin' more than a mere twinge."

Elizabeth sighed deeply. " We must simply find one hundred men, in any condition, and sacrifice them to Davy Jones? That's all?"

Barbossa said, his voice sinister, " I think there's more to it than meets the eye, Miss Swann. While he does not specify their moral standing, of course, and while there are plenty of islands upon which to harvest crews, they need be the godless kind, unafraid of death and moral trappings…they need be ready to answer his questions quickly and without intelligence. Davy likes the obedient and silent kind, not the kind that gibber about their souls bein' tarnished and all of that. He's got no time for deliverance and judgment."

" So we need men…willing to die?"

Barbossa shook his head. " The opposite. We need men so desperate to live, they'll do it in any state."

" Where would we find such men? Who would want to live on a ship like that?" Elizabeth shuddered, holding the coat closer. She imagined it was Jack wrapping it around her tenderly, his eyes soft, dewy almost, with that reverent silence she'd come to adore…

Barbossa's eyes lit up. " Prison."

Gibbs ran off to the bridge and pried the dagger out of the railing, rolling up the map attached by it and unfurling it before Barbossa. " There be several prisons about, Cap'n. Of course, there's Bonaire…you'll find all seedy sorts of men loaded to the gunwhales, there." He gave a raspy chuckle.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. " Bonaire? I've never heard of it."

Barbossa chuckled. " That's due to the fact, Miss Swann, that people of yer standin' have never had a reason to go there. 'Till now, a'course." He wiped at his forehead, looked at the lack of blood on his kerchief, and nodded, satisfied. " Bonaire's the most desperate of islands, covered in naught but sand and rocks. 'Tis where slaves be kept, traded like cod liver oil for a pretty penny."

Elizabeth swallowed. " And how does this fare in comparison to Tortuga?"

Barbossa laughed. " Bonaire's not as bad as Tortuga, but then, Tortuga's half of Petit Goave. "

Gibbs and Barbossa locked eyes for a moment, sharing a knowing glance. " Cap'n," Gibbs said slowly, " if ever there was a place for which a man such as yerself could harvest souls of any moral standin'…Petit Goave would be the place. Sir."

Barbossa gazed off into the sea, humming thoughtfully to himself. " 'Tis a risk bringin' the lady ashore," he said slowly. " Even if we lie at anchor off the south shore."

The crew remained silent, letting him think. The wind moaned in the sails, and Barbossa stood on deck, his fingers arching and clenching as he mused. Elizabeth broke the silence. " Captain, why don't I simply remain dressed as a man?"

Barbossa sighed. " 'Tis not as simple as that, Miss Swann. Not one man in Petit Goave has a speck of conscience on 'im, and he'd kill you, kill anyone, no matter their countenance."

Gibbs asked, leaning forward and stroking his rough silvery beard, " Captain, is it a press gang we need then?"

Barbossa shook his head. " Ah, no. Nothin' of that sort. Pirates come in degrees of respect, and I intend on bein' of the highest. We'll not pillage for the sake of Jack's barter."

Elizabeth cried, " We're giving up?"

Barbossa turned to face her, his eyes full of malice. Impatiently, he shouted, " To the ends of the earth and back I'd go for Jack, so I would, Miss Swann! A captain such as myself need not be reminded of his heading when he's got the compass and crew all in his head. Mark it, I'll find Jack, whether I have one hundred men belly-up in my hold or three souls at the helm."

He strode past her, his coat swirling at his boots, which made loud, heavy thuds on the deck. Climbing the stairs to the helm, he stabbed the map into the helm itself and ripped a compass out of his coat pocket. Glaring at it, a monstrous glare that would have frozen hell itself, he shouted, " We have our heading!"

Elizabeth watched him, striding among the crew, shouting orders. Mooring lines swung, lanyards were thrown, barrels rolled. Elizabeth felt as if she needed to help, but wasn't sure how. She approached Barbossa. " Captain? Can I be of any assistance?"

Barbossa looked at her. " This ship is mine, sure as the Star points north. I'll not have a woman makin' a fool of me before my crew and denyin' me the right to clarify my judgment."

Elizabeth lowered her eyes, shame burning her face. " Sir."

Barbossa waved a hand to the helm. " Have Gibbs there tell you more of Petit Goave." He smiled eerily. " He's got tales to tell, so he has."

Elizabeth was about to turn when she heard a gruff man's voice yell, " It's mine, you--"

" No, ye sod, it's--"

Two men were exchanging blows on the aft deck, leaving their sails swinging wide, various ropes Elizabeth couldn't name riding free in the breeze. The heaviest caught a gust of wind and collided with one other man, slamming him onto the deck. He struggled to his feet and confronted the other two.

Barbossa shouted, " Buffer!"

Gibbs responded, " We don't have one, Cap'n."

Striding forward, Barbossa grabbed the two men by their collars and threw them against the wall. " What do ye waisters think ye are? This be not a dinghy you're sailin'." His eyes narrowed. " What be that in yer hand, Furlowe?"

Furlowe's grimy teeth were bared. " The Cap'n doesn't lock his quarters, so ain't it for the crew then to do with it as they please?"

Barbossa growled, lunging forward and ripping the man's hand open. He lifted a single ring, thick and tarnished silver, an onyx stone set in the middle. Something flashed across his eyes, perhaps pain, perhaps loss, Elizabeth couldn't tell. He pocketed the ring, and reached at his belt. He withdrew his pistol, extended his arm, and with two shots, killed each man.

Elizabeth sprang back, horrified. Blood seeped from their chests, smoke rising from their vests and shirtsleeves. Barbossa turned angrily, hellfire in his eyes. " If any of ye think 'tis a game at sea you're playin', ye'll have a locker beneath the waves and me to thank for it. Get back to work, the lot of ye, or I'll clap you in irons myself, so I will!"

Barbossa reached into his pocket and withdrew the ring, sliding it onto his finger. With a small sigh, he brushed past Elizabeth, up to Gibbs. " We need a new topman and coxswain."

Gibbs looked at him sideways. " It appears _I_ have the helm, Captain."

Barbossa pressed his fingers to his temples. " So it does. Coxswain for you, then."

Gibbs licked his lips. " If it be not too personal, Cap'n, what was it made you fire off at those men?"

Barbossa growled, though there was no malicious glint to his eyes this time, " Too many questions."


	5. What Ails the Captain

**Fate Intervenes **

* * *

**Chapter Five: What Ails the Captain**

Petit Goave's peninsula was the first piece of land to arrive on the horizon, with the cove behind it appearing shortly after. Elizabeth stood with Gibbs at the helm, the wind fiercer than usual. Barbossa's eyes, sharp gray, but muted somehow, were positioned to the northeast, where dark clouds were gathering.

" The prevailin' winds will be carryin' the storm over," he said stiffly, adjusting the feel of his pistol on his belt. " Nevertheless, we'll weight anchor off shore. I'll not be riskin' these heathens boarding my ship and making off with it." He turned and stomped down to the deck, shouting orders once more.

Elizabeth turned to Gibbs, whose sun-reddened face was turned into the wind. " Gibbs, if you don't mind me asking…what has Captain Barbossa so…irritated?" She said it carefully, quietly.

Gibbs shot a furtive glance around the ship, his watery, beady eyes squinting. " Captain's got some…pains he keeps to himself, Miss Swann. 'Tis one thing for a man to be hurtin' inside every day, and quite another to show his crew the same. Be like bleedin' and denyin' the right fact that yer doin' it."

Elizabeth quirked an eyebrow, leaning in closer. " Pains?"

Gibbs coughed uncomfortably as Barbossa ascended the steps. " Not now."

Barbossa stood, shrugging his shoulders and tilting his black, plumed hat. " We weigh in one league from shore lads, no closer or I'll have your heads for it!" He shouted, his voice gruff and unyielding. " Let it be known to each of ye that whomever deserts my crew while on this forsaken island will have his insides dug out, boiled, and fed down his throat, which will subsequently be slit. I'll hang your entrails before you so's the whole sea knows what a coward ye are before I mercilessly slaughter you." He chuckled. " There be no mercy on these waves." He lowered his voice. " Not while I command them."

--

As soon as Elizabeth set foot on Petit Goave's sands, she felt her heart sink. It stunk, of cooking meat, or rotten vegetables, of spilt alcohol and heady spices. She felt dizzy, and stumbled only slightly as she made her way to the small village.

Barbossa's face was impassive. Scarred and mottled, it was turned to the cluster of stone houses, inns, and open stocks in the middle of the town. A man's hands and head dangled helplessly from the stocks, as he bellowed in pain and misery. Barbossa strode forward, sensing the desperation that would guarantee this man's soul to be his.

" What class of murder, pillage, rape or aggravation did ye commit to be clapped in these stocks?" he asked incredulously, bending low to the man's rotted teeth and bald head. His eyes were red, the pupils mere pinpoints.

" I killed a man wif me bare hands," he said, lifting and lowering his arms in a fruitless gesture to elaborate. " I cricked his neck and snapped it back so's I could watch his skull roll." He sniffed, a watery, disgusting sound that made even Barbossa lean back in distaste. " He owed me a piece of eight."

Barbossa's eyes glinted. " How'd ye like to become part of a pirate crew, so's to spare yer life and get ye off this wretched spit of land?"

The man growled, " What's in it for me?"

Barbossa smiled endearingly, spreading his hands and putting on a jovial, theatrical air. " Why, all the pieces o' eight ye could ask for, and so much more, for your humble service."

The man spit on the sand. " I'll join ye, Cap'n, if'n ye get me outter these stocks. The old bastard deserved it, so he did." Barbossa looked around, then blew the lock to the stocks off with his pistol. The man stood, waving his hands around. " My father, I mean."

A silent glance was exchanged.

Barbossa pressed his pistol to the back of the man's skull. " Let it be known, ye scallywag, that if ye so much as disobey me slightest whim for ye to blink when asked, 'tis the briny deep for ye and yer bones, which, mind, will be stripped of all flesh and picked at by the buzzards afore ye're thrown over." Borrowing a phrase, and saying it with relative ease, he growled, " Savvy?"

Elizabeth's chest tightened. _Savvy?_ Suddenly Jack was there, swaggering slowly toward her…sliding his ringed finger along her jaw line, tracing down her neck, beneath her collar…leaning his face in closer, his eyes deep and soft, his lips tender…

Gibbs squeezed her shoulder. " We're movin' on, Miss Swann."

Barbossa walked about as if he owned the island, a saunter in his steps that Elizabeth hadn't seen before. He moved fluidly, rings glinting, feather on his hat swaying. His mere presence, full black regalia and various weapons, attracted an unsavory crowed.

Unceremoniously, he strode into an inn, cleared it of all rum bottles and flagons, and sat behind it. Pulling a quill from his jacket, as well as a rather crumpled, but large, piece of parchment, he turned to the group of dirty, matted characters that had fallen into step behind him.

" If ye wish to sail the seas with the finest crew this side o' Hispanolia, to escape the…trappings of this life…" He rolled his eyes as he added loudly, " And we all know what the Huguenots would say to _that_…" A raucous laugh answered him. " Sign yer name upon this parchment and join the crew of _The Silver Dagger_, finest galleon ever to catch wind in her bosom since _The Black Pearl_." He growled the last ship's name, always giving it the edge and morose decorum he felt it was due.

" _The Pearl_?" someone shouted. " She's been long gone, her Captain dead and rotted! Ye've got no more say in the _Pearl_ than ye have on this dinghy ye're floatin' out in the waves!"

Barbossa stood, his chair sliding back with a screech. His hands were planted on the table, his eyes malicious. He thundered, " Who said that? Which of he sods just _dared_ to insult me ship in me very presence?"

The crowd parted, to reveal a tall man, muscles bulging and glistening with sweat. Gold earrings, chains, and various tattoos were laced across his body. His eyes were deep black, his skin tanned from the sun, and his shaven head reflected the light from many oil lamps scattered throughout the inn. " I did." His voice was a deep bass, with a tone of gravel, sharks' teeth, and cold malice.

Barbossa circled round the table, his own countenance making the men who had gathered step back warily. " I be the Captain of _The Black Pearl_," he growled, his voice

dangerously low. " I've seen the makin's of Hell and back, lads, I've traveled to lockers Davy Jones himself had not the mettle to dig fer his captured souls."

Irony hung in the air.

" If ye've got the slightest doubt that I'll not raise me pistol and send this blackguard into the foul depths of purgatory, say so to me face."

The man stood defiantly, raised his hand…

And Barbossa, quicker than anyone's eyes detected, shot him down with a single fire. His pistol smoked and hissed, and the man lay on the floor, dead.

" If ye're willin' to sail with a Captain who doesn't take heathens of the likes of ye to challenge his authority and denounce his ship, make her mark on the parchment! If ye don't, be gone from me sight and join yer yellow-bellied scoundrels in the sands." Barbossa turned and stalked back to the table, his eyes murderous.

By the end of the night, they had collected one hundred souls.

--

_The Silver Dagger_ sliced through the night, a mere ripple in the vast ocean. It seemed to Elizabeth that all of her days were spent on deck, gazing, and all of her nights were spent on deck…gazing. She felt as if an endless void had opened beneath her, threatening to swallow her whole. Jack was still missing, they had no idea as to where the _Flying Dutchman_ might be…

Hanging her head heavily, she leaned against the mast, drawing her knees up to her chin. The sea was cold tonight, the storm Barbossa had spoken of finally drawing nearer. The sky to the northeast was cloudy and devoid of stars, but the canopy of blue above her was dotted with sprinkles of stardust.

She heard the soft, damp sound of a mop being dragged across the deck. Gibbs looked at her pointedly, as Barbossa quietly, without pomp, entered his quarters, lit a candle, and closed the door. The curtains were already drawn, of course.

Gibbs gestured for her to follow him, and he ascended to the helm, adjusting the ship only slightly. Setting his mop against the railing and wiping his hands on his shirt, he sat across from her, crossing his arms over his chest. " Is it the story of the Captain ye'll be wantin' then?" He laughed. " It's not really something' a young lady should hear before sleepin'."

Elizabeth shrugged, pulling her nightdress closer as she, too, crossed her arms against the cold. " It doesn't matter."

Gibbs sighed. " What ails the Captain is that which vexes all men."

Elizabeth laughed derisively. " A woman, I suspect? Tell me it's not some dowdy woman on Tortuga wearing far too much rouge and is far too eager to lift her skirts."

Gibbs shook his head, wringing his hands, as if too nervous to tell the story, or perhaps nervous because he _was_ telling it. " Neither. She was a respectable woman, from near to where the Captain hails, from what I've heard. She was beautiful, spirited. Fiery as all hell." He laughed.

Elizabeth smiled, laughing easily with him. How had she ever thought men such as him, such as Jack, were despicable, filthy scoundrels? They had hearts, minds, inner strengths she couldn't begin to understand. They were real men, with dreams and fears, just as those pompous men in white wigs at Port Royal were. Not by the same definition, perhaps, but real all the same.

" She wasn't docile and prim, she would run in the fields and sail into the waves without tellin' anyone where she was, her auburn locks dancin' in the wind, eyes as green as the sea, skin pale as moonlight," Gibbs said. " Her voice was like a harpist playin' with naught but his smallest fingers, tinkling like bells, but when she was afeared or upset, 'twas a banshee ye had on hand. She loved deeply, but was fickle."

Elizabeth whispered, " What was her name?"

" Noelle," Gibbs said softly, as if cherishing every syllable. " Perfect she was, in every way, the essence of man's desire. The Cap'n was about ter propose when he found that Davy Jones had loved her as well."

" Davy?" Elizabeth drew back. " But surely, their ages…" She tried to calculate in her head. Of course, the fact that Barbossa had been unable to die for quite some time made the formulas difficult to contend with, and that she didn't know how long Davy had been so horribly deformed for.

" The sea has no reckonin' of time's passage," Gibbs said sagely. " The Cap'n and Davy aren't that far apart in years spent at sea."

" What happened to her?" Elizabeth whispered. " Why did Davy have to…cut his heart out?" She tried to imagine Barbossa's coping mechanism, and couldn't. An all-too-healthy addiction to apples, perhaps?

Gibbs sighed. " She was sailin' with the Cap'n one day when she saw _The Flying Dutchman_ moored in on the docks of Bonaire. Cap'n said she clapped herself in irons and threw herself overboard, not wantin' ter be tormented by the affections of both men. Though she gave the Cap'n one thing before she died."

" The ring?" Elizabeth whispered.

" Aye, the ring," Gibbs nodded. He withdrew a pipe from his pocket, lit and capped it, and took a long puff. It smelled of vanilla, the blue-silver tendrils curling into the cobalt night sky. The stars, which seemed almost as sharp and biting as the wind, absorbed the aroma silently. " 'Tis all he has left of her, save for one thing."

" What?"

" The weddin' dress he bought fer her. He was to propose that very afternoon. She never wore it." Gibbs sighed, leaning against the helm and guiding it blindly. His sense of intuition seemed to instead. " The ring itself is his most prized possession."

" Then why did he leave it in his quarters?"

" Cap'n takes it off at night fer the fear that she may haunt him in his dreams…not to say she doesn't, but 'tis his own imaginings that bring her up, not her soul. He fears her very spirit will haunt him." Gibbs took another drag on the pipe and sighed contentedly.

Elizabeth looked down at her feet, closing her eyes and listening to the gentle thumping of the waves on the bulkhead. She had no idea Barbossa had been such a deep, loving man, so desperate to please.

As if to read her thoughts, Gibbs replied, standing slowly, " He loved her, he did. 'Twas a curse on both of them to never have her. She couldn't be claimed, just as the sea cannot be owned."

Elizabeth looked up at him, " And what of Jack?"

Gibbs coughed. " I've never seen Jack melt more at a woman's touch than yours, Miss Swann. Just the mere sight of ye made him weak in the knees, I could tell."

Elizabeth smiled sadly. " Indeed?"

" Indeed."

Heavy footsteps ascended to the level of the quarter deck, and Barbossa stood, illuminated by soft moonlight. " 'Tis the end of yer watch, Master Gibbs," he said quietly.

Elizabeth had the sinking feeling that he had heard their conversation.

" Let us hope tomorrow will bring better tales."

* * *

_A/N: I will not be able to post another chapter until at least Saturday, August 5th. I apologize for the wait, but I appreciate the continuous reviews this fic has received. Thank you for reading! Research for this and subsequent chapters has been done through various books and the piratical resources at kipar dot org. _


	6. Playing with Fire

**Fate Intervenes**

* * *

**Chapter Six: Playing with Fire **

The crew had become restless. The seas, windless and scorching hot, had left _The Silver Dagger_ floating uselessly, with no island in sight. Barbossa had commanded a rationing of food and a sharp decrease in the consumption of rum, which had made the voyage even more intolerable.

Elizabeth had decided to no longer keep up her masculine charade, and stood in deck now in simple shirtsleeves and rolled up culotte, barefoot. Her hair was drawn back with a scarlet scarf in a tangled, sea-sprayed mess. She continually scanned the horizon, shading her eyes, looking for any trace of Davy Jones's ship.

There was not even the merest ripple in the water. Brightly colored fish, red and orange, swam far below in the aquamarine waters, and the gentle sway of the green plants far below was calming, but they served only as more indications of how stationary the ship was. Life progressed without them.

Barbossa seemed unfettered, simply walking to and fro on the deck, checking the lines and sails, adjusting the few cannon that were on the open deck. He carried a scroll with him, a map or an inventory, Elizabeth didn't know, making marks and muttering to himself.

She sighed, slumping against the deck. What she wouldn't give for a breath of wind, the merest flutter in the canvas sails…

--

Jack Sparrow opened his eyes, and was welcomed to consciousness with a piercing headache. He lay on a slimy deck ridden with fish entrails and slops of seaweed, and his hair was tangled in front of his face. Instinctively, he reached for his hat atop his head, and found only a sopping wet scarf wrap.

" My effects," he croaked, spitting out saltwater and an egg-like, white material. He paused, rolling onto his side and looking at it. " I don't remember eating that."

" That's because it ate _you_," a gruff voice intoned above him.

Jack sprawled on his back, arching his fingers and contemplating the face that swam before him, unfocused and certainly not human. Fleshy, yellow-green tentacles snaked out of what appeared to be a face, a thin-lipped mouth curled in a snarl was puffing on a pipe, and the small clouds of silvery smoke escaped from the facial tubes. Jack blinked. " Davy Jones?"

" Yer memory serves ye well," Davy said condescendingly, hobbling over on his one good leg and gripping Jack's throat with his claw-like appendage. His watery eyes gazed on Jack's countenance for a long, tense moment, during which his crew shuffled impatiently. They wanted to see Jack ripped apart, given no quarter. They wanted blood.

Jack looked around, sniffing. He ignored the burning salt in his nostrils. _The Flying Dutchman_'s sails sat in the dead air. " Hit a sandbar, have we?" He ran his tongue over his teeth and struggled to suppress a repulsed curling of his lip.

Davy Jones growled, " How is it the Kraken didn't eat ye whole, Jack Sparrow?"

Jack shrugged, trying to sit up, but finding that his knees and ankles didn't cooperate in tandem. Flopping back onto the deck, he leaned against the edge of the ship and spread his hands, smiling wanly. " That's easy, mate. I don't taste that good."

Davy lunged forward and gripped Jack's torso, lifting him off the deck and throwing him into the mizzenmast. " What did you do with my chest, Sparrow?"

Jack struggled to get up, his clothing tangled in ropes and pulleys. " Excuse me? Your what?"

Davy's eyes narrowed. " Don't play games with me. Ye throw the dice aboard my ship, Jack Sparrow, and you _lose_. Tell me where my chest is!"

Jack sniffed, pulling at his mustache and two tiny braided goatees. " I don't know, to be perfectly honest. And I am an honest man." He rolled up his sleeves. " That Commodore took it."

" Commodore?"

A tall crew member with the head of a hammerhead shark stepped forward, his jagged teeth protruding out of his mouth. " Aye, Cap'n. 'Twas a man in Naval attire, on your island. He's the one left us the chest with naught but your letters in it."

Davy paused, gazing out at the sea. " This Commodore…can he be persuaded to help us?"

Jack burst in, trying to stand, " If I may interject here, gentlemen…My immortal soul isn't really _that_ much of a concern, is it? Why don't we just give old Jack a shot and a jug and cast him off on some cursed island, and part ways as friends?" He extended a hand, but Davy swatted it away as he walked imperiously across the deck, his cloaks, matted with seaweed and crunchy bits of barnacle, swirling. He stopped, then turned slowly to face Jack, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

" Yer crew's out lookin' for ye," he said coldly.

" My crew?" Jack inquired, raising an eyebrow. " I was unaware I commanded a crew…according to your calculations, I wasn't meant to be introducing myself as Captain."

Davy's smile became even more sinister. " Ah, no, Jack. Your first mate's crew is out to find you. Gatherin' souls for the purchase of yours, a true cost, to be sure, but obviously a sacrifice they're willin' to make."

Jack's mind seemed to be several thought processes behind. He blinked. " My first mate? Hector Barbossa, eh? So the old slime really did crawl out of purgatory." He struggled to his elbows. " Good for him. Why don't we just heave-ho my battered self onto his deck and you can sail away into the sunset, savvy?"

Davy knelt in front of him. " I don't think ye fully understand the…repercussions of your survival., Jack. I was more than ready to move on with your corpse in the Kraken's gullet and hunt down my heart myself. But now that you're alive, ye complicate things a bit. Especially since there's one…fair maiden aboard Barbossa's ship that ye certainly wouldn't want…damaged."

Jack's eyed widened momentarily. _Elizabeth_. " What do you want with her?" he asked, trying to remain calm. " What can Elizabeth do on a ship such as yours?"

Davy shrugged. " The better question, lad, is what _can't_ she do?" His crew chuckled, a deep throaty rumble that made Jack shiver.

Jack spread his hands. " Let's strike a deal, shall we? You let me stay here until my crew and the bonnie lass bring you your desired souls, and, in turn, you exchange my body for the likes of said sacrificial lambs. Agreed?"

Davy nodded. " That was the plan, Jack."

Jack smiled slowly. " Well, then we have a deal."

Davy's voice was full of gravel and malice. " Not quite." He hobbled to the side of the deck and pointed east. " Yer ships caught in the same dead winds we're floatin' in, Jack. I gave yer Cap'n three days and he's already down by two. Ye have one more sunset afore yer tossed amongst the waves."

Jack blinked. " Surely the climate changes of the area have no effect on how quickly I--"

" I command the seas, Jack Sparrow, but not the winds! And neither does Barbossa," he said coldly. " The time still stands."

Jack tried to stand, wavered, but managed to cling to the mizzenmast. " Just out of curiosity, mate, why three days? Why not give him an entire week? What use am I to your…" He looked around at the tortured crustacean-like souls around him. "…fine crew?"

Davy snarled, " Yer here ter help me find my heart, Jack. And if yer crew comes fer ye before then, I'll use them to guide me and take me back to this…Commdore. Yer fair damsel can't stay off the sandy shores of land for long, can she?"

" Well, to be fair, mate, neither can you," Jack said pointedly. But his heart hammered against his ribcage. He couldn't let Elizabeth be used as bait, not to guide Davy back to shore, not to let his foul crew storm the beaches and ransack homes, burning Port Royal to the ground. It would break her heart. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't--

Davy's voice, softer and more gentle this time, said, " That heart…'tis all I've got, and you know it."

Jack snapped at the vulnerability, his quick sense of timing always allowing him to have the upper verbal hand. " A sentimental pirate," he aid loftily. " One doesn't see many of those these days."

Davy growled, " Yer playin' with fire on this ship, laddie. Keep yer tongue behind yer teeth afore I cut it out."

Jack inspected his rings, watching them glitter in the sunlight. " Noted, Captain."

Davy extended a tentacle-hand with a flintlock pistol gripped in it, pointing it at Jack's heart.

" Duly noted," Jack said quietly.

--

Sunset burned brightly on the horizon, flames of crimson and gold licking at the pane of glass that had become the ocean. The clouds above were lacey bits of pink froth, bubbling over, but never offering even the slightest caress of wind. Jack's eyes scanned the full breadth of the sea, the sun reflected in shards of bright red in his deep brown eyes, saturating his already well-tanned skin, bathed in fire. He absently rolled a large ruby ring between his slender fingers, keeping himself busy physically while his mind ran in circles.

Elizabeth was out there, with Barbossa, which was the first complication. She wasn't Noelle, no woman aboard a ship could compare to _her_, but he knew of Barbossa's sudden human urges. Death had passed over him like a cold shadow, and he undoubtedly wanted to make the most of his sensual pleasures before true mortality struck. It was only a matter of time.

Secondly, he had no idea where the ship might be, or what Barbossa may have commanded. A galleon? A caravel? He had no way of knowing. It wouldn't be a small dinghy, however, it would have power and drive behind its sails, with a hint of morbid strength that Barbossa seemed to exude from any vessel he sailed.

He glanced over his shoulder, glaring at the twisted bodies of maimed men, tying down ropes, scraping the rust and barnacles off of old anchors set between their legs, wringing out lengths of giant rope. Davy was no where to be seen, but Jack knew he would be able to appear on the deck at a moment's notice.

He caught the morose gaze of Bootstrap, whose wan, pasty-white face had acquired more tiny shells and carbuncles than the last time they had met. Jack sidled closer, keeping his eyes fixed on the sea. Bootstrap acknowledged him with a small grunt, wrapping his sand-encrusted fingers, dripping wet, around a lanyard and tugging.

" What is it you want, Jack?" he asked quietly. He coughed. " There's nothing more I can offer you."

Jack drummed his fingers along the edge of the deck, licking his cracked lips. " There's only one thing, really, Bootstrap, and you need not trouble yourself over it."

Bootstrap laughed sadly. " Heh. Trouble. We've had enough of that, Jack. It's our lot in life, you know, to struggle and become crushed under the waves." He snatched at a small snail that was inching along his doublet, and threw it into his mouth. He chewed, savoring the taste, the green rivulets of slime sluicing down his chin and into the furrows of his wet jacket. " It's just a question of how long it takes you to go mad."

Jack sighed. " I'm not planning on going mad, mate. I'm not asking to be marooned again."

Bootstrap appeared offended, his odd black eyebrows quirking. " No one said you were, Jack." He wrapped a coil of rope around a winch and sat atop it. Jack flipped over the nearest bucket and sat, facing Bootstrap. " What is it you need?"

Jack sniffed. " A telescope."

Bootstrap's eyes narrowed. " A telescope," he said flatly. " That's all."

Jack nodded, reclining back and resting his head and bent arms against the edge of the deck. " More or less."

Bootstrap pushed his hat up onto his head further. " What else?"

Jack whispered, " A starry night."

Bootstrap chuckled. " As soon as I find a way to give you that, Jack, and a jar big enough to put it in, you'll get it."

Jack shook his head. " I'm being completely serious here, mate."

Bootstrap tilted his head, looking at Jack warily. " Is it jumping overboard, you are?"

Jack put a finger to his lips, shaking his head hastily. " Ssh! Yes, but don't tell the entire crew. I've already been threatened with being eaten once, I don't need rabid pirates commanded by a love-struck cephalopod attempting the same; they will succeed."

He spread his hands, calculating in the air. " I need the telescope to spy a ship in the distance flying Barbossa's colors so that I may jump off of this ship and swim to said galleon to avoid bringing my first mate and his crew into mortal peril on the shores of Jamaica."

Bootstrap nodded slowly. " Ah."

Jack seemed offended that this was the only response the old man could come up with after such a brilliant plan was laid out.

" And you need the cover of darkness to escape," he said quietly. " But stars by which to see."

" Well, yes," Jack admitted, then stopped. " Unless you can create a diversion."

Bootstrap chuckled. " It'll be another five lashes for another Turner then, I suspect."

Jack leaned back slightly. " Really? How is Will, then?"

Bootstrap looked down at the deck, fumbling with rope. " I don't know. I gave him my knife and he disappeared. He told me he'd come back for me." He sighed, a watery gargle. " Foolish boy."

--

Jack opened the hatch onto the deck quietly, poking his head up above the wooden boards before lifting himself out completely. A battered, brass telescope was clutched in one hand, and he shoved into his baldric. The sky above him was sprinkled with stars, and the moon was not obscured by clouds. Exhaling with relief, he rolled onto the deck and closed the hatch behind him.

Treading quietly, rolling the balls of his feet as to not creak any mismatched floorboards, he approached the side of the ship. Inspecting its many crisscrossing ropes and pulleys, he swung his legs over the gunwale and grabbed the nearest rope. Sliding down, ignoring the burning in his hands, he stood awkwardly for a moment, perched upon a wooden plank, flung open to expose the cannon below decks.

The sounds of a rowdy crew, inebriated and dancing a jig, no doubt, drifted out. The smell of stale ale and burning hardtack greeted his nostrils, and with a cough he shimmied down further.

When at last he came to the inky black water, he wrapped his knees around two pulleys, balancing carefully. Extending the telescope and lifting it to his eye, he scanned the horizon. There was a small island with tiny, scrubby brown trees to the west, but to the east…

He snapped the telescope back. A galleon, flying dark flags. Whether they were red and of no quarter indication or black as Barbossa's heart, he couldn't tell. It didn't matter. The brethren remained together, even if the odd psychotic Captain or two tried to plunder and pillage another man's prize.

Biting down on his dagger with his teeth and putting the telescope back into his baldric, Jack slipped into the cold, black waves and swam east.

--

_A/N: Thank you all for the continued support and positive reviews; they are incredibly encouraging. Also, thank you for your patience as I attempted to post this latest chapter._


	7. Storms and Seduction

**Fate Intervenes**

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Storms and Seduction**

The_ Silver Dagger_'s black sails whipped in the sudden wind, clouds sweeping down upon the unsuspecting ships as night fell. The sunset had betrayed them; the beauty had blinded them to the tempest brewing. The pink, benevolent clouds suddenly swirled with a fury, raining upon the ship and spattering the crew with cold, cruel droplets. The wind tore at the sails with an ethereal groan, ripping lanyards and tossing anything that was not tied down into the crashing waves.

Barbossa stood in the midst of it, having discarded his hat, and was helping Gibbs and Ragetti hold down the cannon. Ragetti pushed it into a corner, tying it down so it wouldn't recoil, wiping sweat from his brow. A gust of wind blew suddenly, and all heads jerked round as they heard the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the hull.

Barbossa reached for his pistol, half-cocked it, and peered over the gunwale. He shouted down, his voice barely carrying over the wind, " Is there someone in the water?"

A faint voice called, " Hector, if you don't send a lad down with a rope right now I'm going to cut you throat to gizzard."

Barbossa's gray eyes widened. " Jack." He spun round, looking frantically for Elizabeth. " Where is she? What happened?"

_She was standing on the deck, her red hair falling onto her shoulders, emerald eyes dancing. She stood on tiptoe on the quarterdeck, dancing lightly, her pale white feet barely touching the deck. She smiled, her laugh sounding of warm afternoons and hot chamomile tea. She smiled at him, pink lips perfect._

" _Hector! Look at the sea from here!" _

_He turned, his short, dark hair catching the sun's rays. His gray eyes and thin face were lit with happiness as he watched her twirl, her pale blue dress shimmering. " You look lovely, darling. I prefer this view much better." He sheathed his cutlass and sat on the deck, arranging the purple and black plumes of his hat._

_She cried, laughing," Oh, do put that silly thing away! Come with me!" She ran to the edge of the quarterdeck and was suddenly gone._

_He lifted his head. " Where is she? What happened?" His heart pounded in his chest, fists clamoring against a rusty prison cage, unheard voices desperately crying out. " Noelle!" His voice cracked. " Noelle!" He dropped his hat and ran to the ladder, climbing up onto the deck, a cold sweat prickling on his neck and down the middle of his chest. _

_Her fiery eyes peeked up at him from behind the helm. _

" _There you are, love…I thought I'd lost you." He grinned with relief. She simply kissed him. _

Elizabeth opened the door to her cabin, tying her hair back with an ivory ribbon hastily. " Captain?" She held up a lantern before her, sending a patch of yellow light onto the deck.

Barbossa sniffed, wiping water from his eyes, as well as the memory from his mind. _Not now_. " We've recovered someone."

Elizabeth stormed from her cabin, holding her skirts above her ankles, running barefoot onto the deck. She nearly threw herself overboard in an attempt to see the shadowy, sputtering figure in the waves. " Jack!"

He called up to her, " Send me a pulley, love, I'm freezing."

Gasping with joy, hot tears tracing her pale face, Elizabeth ran to Barbossa, her eyes eager. " Bring him up! Send him something, quickly!"

Barbossa's heart leapt into his throat. He swallowed his pride, his desire. He thought of Jack, trapped in the waves, his weakened body slammed against the unyielding hull repeatedly with every salty crest. " I'll send a boat down, but only one. We can't afford to lose any." He ordered three crew members to lower a boat, watching them with a shrewd gaze as it struggled to hit the waves.

Jack heaved his body over the edge, dropping the telescope and his dagger, as well as his hat, which had managed to remain on his head. He gazed up at the deck, ignoring Barbossa's scared visage, the crumpled sails, the sea spray…all he saw was her.

" Elizabeth."

--

The boat drew closer, and before it had reached the level of the deck he had sprung up, leaving his effects in the boat. He fell onto the deck, gasping for air. Raindrops fell into his mouth, wetting his parched lips, sliding down his throat.

Elizabeth ran to him, falling to her knees and gathering him in her arms. " Oh, Jack…" She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall onto his exposed neck. She kissed the soft skin of his neck, the side of his jaw, the gentle curve of his ear; she traced her hands along his chest, laying her head upon it and feeling it rise and fall with his labored breathing, inhaling the salt and rum and sweat of his clothes. His heart beat in her left ear, a constant reminder that he was alive, here, with her.

She felt his hand press into the small of her back, drawing her closer. She looked deeply into his eyes, smiling wanly. " You've come back," she whispered. She kissed his lips, allowing herself to relax, the muscles in her back, once tight and rigid, melting at his touch.

He drew back slowly, blinking and staring up at the tumultuous skies. Elizabeth curled her fingers around his, whispering, " Let's get you inside, Jack, it's far too cold to be on deck."

Jack swallowed, shaking his head. " Let me, ah, walk it off." He struggled to sit up, coughing. Barbossa stood over him, arms crossed over his chest. Jack peered up at him, blinking the rain away. " Thanks for the boat, mate. I don't know how much longer I would have lasted." He took his hat off and began wringing the water droplets out of it.

Barbossa said quietly, " Find some suitable clothes in me quarters and get some rest, Jack. We sail for Port Royal in the morning."

Jack sputtered, " You can't go back, mate." Barbossa's lips curled. " _Hector_," Jack said with emphasis. " Davy's going to realize I'm missing and it won't take long for him to hoist anchor and follow this…" He looked around dubiously. " Sloop."

Barbossa growled, " So not only have ye come upon me ship, uninvited…" He took a slow step forward. " But ye've compromised the safety of me cargo and crew."

Jack spread his hands. " It was that or death, mate." He looked at Elizabeth, whose face was pale, her lips tinged slightly purple. "Love, you're freezing." He held her hand between two of his, her fingers clammy and cold to the touch.

Barbossa was fuming. " We were about ter find ye, Jack. We were mere leagues away, then yer sorry carcass had to arrive on me hull. Yer like a barnacle a good careening can't scrape off." He turned round and stalked into his quarters, slamming the door. The lantern outside rattled, sputtered, and went out.

Elizabeth slid her arm under Jack's shoulders, attempting to lift him from the deck. " Come, Jack. Now isn't the time to experiment with valor. You'll catch your death out here."

Jack worked his lips. " Death's already caught me, love. It just forgot to swallow."

--

Tortuga's night air was filled with the scent of roasting meets and peppers, and Will Turner stood atop a table, downing a large flagon of ale. A flautist and a mandolin-player struck up a jig, and with less reserve than usual, Will began to dance the steps. His head felt light and yet stuffed at the same time, full of dried cotton. His mouth reveled in the ale and stale bread, and sweat drenched his body from head to toe. He felt nauseous and elated all at once.

He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten properly, or slept in anything that resembled a bed. How he had come here, to a buccaneer market at midnight, was quite beyond him. He had worn the same clothes for days, which had slowly accumulated a fine layer of grime and flecks of pond frond. He had sold his jacket for spare pocket coins, for whatever pints he felt like indulging in, or other pleasures.

He had soon discovered that living with pirates, on an island run and inhabited by them, was not as horrid as he imagined. The stench of the curing meats, the process which had earned the buccaneers their title, had soon worn off, as had the shock of seeing dozens of men covered in blood. It had become part of the natural landscape, like the sand and the waves.

He missed a step and slipped, falling onto the oily surface of the dingy table, his back slamming against the wood. He blinked, his mouth forming words he didn't know existed. He gasped in shock as two large, beautiful blue eyes loomed above him.

" Will? Will Turner?"

Will sat up, then fell back again. His shirt was rapidly being untied from the top, his belt loosened. He tried to grapple with these new pieces of information. The last time he had checked, his hands were on the table…He slowly lolled his head to the side. Yes. There they were indeed.

" Wha…you…my…?" he asked, dazed. He tried to remember her face. Bright eyes, full red lips…who was she? " Who?" he sputtered.

" Jeanette," she said softly into his ear, sliding a hand down his back. His back arched involuntarily and he choked for air as she kissed him fiercely. She drew back, her eyes wide and mournful. " Oh, I'm sorry. Is this a bad time?"

Will shook his head, taking another enormous swig of ale. " Nohh…noht at all," he slurred. He had never felt so drunk in his entire life. He peered into his flagon, then up at her, disheartened. " It'sss empty."

Jeanette smiled slowly. Her mouth swam in and out of focus. Will parted his lips, closing his eyes. " Won't that woman you were with mind?" she teased sweetly, though there were hidden, sugar-coated barbs in her tone.

The music around them seemed to grow louder, the pulsing drums driving nails into Will's skull, the flutes' high, piercing notes slicing through the palm trees.

Dancers twirled around him, brightly colored scarves flitting like parrots through the night, bells around their ankles jingling. The spices of the island were penetrating his senses, burned into his brain. He wanted to find someone, anyone, and--

Jeanette whispered, " Drink this…it will make you feel better." She handed him a hastily carved wooden cup. He lifted it to his lips, drinking the thick foamy white liquid, which tasted vaguely of coconut. His eyelids fluttered. It felt as if Jeanette's lovely curls had settled onto his chest, into his soul, her lips kissing every inch of his face…

He jerked his eyes open, with effort. She was.

Will's mind darkened as he fell into unconsciousness. Elizabeth was the farthest thing from his mind.


	8. Never Lose Hope

**Fate Intervenes**

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Never Lose Hope**

Elizabeth's cabin was dimly lit, the sheets on the single bed flung carelessly about, evidence of her quick awakening during the storm. It persisted, the rain droplets obscuring any possible view out of the small window, the dark cobalt sky outside teeming with roiling black clouds.

She struggled to bring Jack inside, puddles forming on the wooden floors as water cascaded down her bodice and dripped off of her skirts. Jack's multiple layers of clothing offered some as well, the vests and shirts leaving wet streaks on the floor. Propping him against the bed, Elizabeth began untying his jackets and shirts, setting them aside to be dried in the small stoves below decks.

Jack's dark eyes followed her movements as he lay like a rag doll, slumped against the bed. Her pale fingers were deft, and her tongue protruded only slightly from between her lips as she fought with the soaking wet laces and buttons. Her fingernails were purple from the cold, and she shivered. Nevertheless, she persisted, determined to dry Jack off to ward off influenza.

Jack licked his lips, then swallowed. Clearing his throat, he said quietly, " Thank you."

Elizabeth lifted her eyes, swiping a stray lock of hair out of her face. " Thank you." It fell back down again.

Jack leaned forward, cupping her face in his hand. Drawing closer, she collapsed onto him, her hands finding his ribs, sliding down them, still moist from the sea water. His lips played over her own, opening and closing as they both sighed, finally fulfilling that need that had pursued them for days, after a fleeting kiss.

Elizabeth's foot slipped in the water and she fell onto him properly, her head resting against his abdomen. Lifting her eyes, laughing silently, she began to furiously untie his shirts as his hands felt for her corset, found there was none, and slid down her leg, to her bare ankle. Tickling her there, she broke free of his kiss and laughed out loud, clutching her foot.

" Jack!"

His hand slid further, up the curve of her leg, stopping at the smooth round of her kneecap. Drumming his fingers along it with his right, his left braced against her neck, pulling her closer. She melted to him once more, her hands now working to remove the vests and shirts. At last they were free, and she saw the tattoos and scars crisscrossing his tanned, toned chest.

" Not now, love," he whispered, his voice full of the agony of their separation and his desire at their reunion, as she stared down at various names, sketches of islands, and crosses that were inked onto his skin. He ran his fingers through her hair, and she moaned luxuriously, her hand tracing the small of his back.

The lantern above them swung as the ship hit another wave, the light playing with shadow upon her face, shining golden in some places and gleaming darkly in others. Her eyes reflected its glimmer like pinpoints of flame.

Jack stood, walking slowly toward the wall and holding her against it. She took a breath as he kissed her passionately, slowly, leaning her head back and allowing the muscles in her shoulders to relax. She opened her mouth to breathe, and barely had time to inhale before he kissed her again. She thought inwardly that it was like drowning, but without the fear and pain.

Jack took a step backward, accidentally leaning against a table which held a silver tray of assorted drinks, none of which had even been opened. Elizabeth advanced playfully, sliding her hand down the side of his belt loop, tracing his hip. Jack leaned back and pushed the drinks to the floor. The glass shattered, rum and brandy spilling out, leaving amber colored puddles to mix with the clear ones already there from the rain.

Jack turned, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling her up with him. She pushed him down roughly, baring her teeth in a seductive, sultry snarl. He growled back, flashing his teeth and then abruptly laughing as she tousled her own hair, giggling madly. She kissed his face, down his neck, onto his chest, her right hand tracing his arm, her left drawing the sheets together in a bundle in her fist. She leaned over him, one leg on either side, kissing his lips.

As the ship hit another wave, the lantern slid off the table…

And blew out.

--

Will awoke in a small hut by the ocean, his feet hanging out of the back door, his arms and head flung out the front. He was spread-eagled, sprinkled with sand, and had a horrid hangover. Stumbling out into the blinding sun, he hissed once in agony and scrambled back in, leaning in one small corner and holding his head in his hands. He moaned, rocking back and forth.

Feet padded on the sand outside, and he squinted bleary eyes up to see Jeanette, in a loose-fitting white shirt and a tattered brown skirt. A corset, also brown, tugged at her waist, but she appeared fresher, cleaner, more natural. Her red corset and heavy make-up were gone. She was earthier, purer almost, though he knew that wasn't true.

She sat down opposite him, extending a plate full of what looked jambalaya. Warily, he reached for one of the bent, tarnished forks and stabbed a mouthful of rice and beans. Eating it slowly, thoughtfully, he watched Jeanette eat daintily, picking and prodding.

He swallowed, patting his lips with the back of his hand. " Jeanette," he began slowly.

She lifted her eyes, and the act seemed to require immense effort from her. She blinked. " Yes?"

" How did you…" He tried to think of a kind way to word this. " How did you come to Tortuga?"

Jeanette licked a fleck of rice off of her lips. Setting the plate on the sandy floor before him, she looked out to the sea. It was green and blue, the crests of the waves foamy white. The golden sand glittered in the harsh yellow sun. The sight seemed to hypnotize her for a moment, for she didn't answer, simply worked her lips. At last, she said quietly, " I never meant to."

Will tilted his head. " Oh? And why is that?"

Jeanette smoothed her skirts and looked down at her hands. " My father is a very wealthy lord in Jamaica," she said softly. " He has a lovely house near a cove, just outside of Port Royal. He sells silks and paprika, mostly, but sometimes he commissions privateers." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. " I lived splendidly for many years, having teas with the social elite and sailing on the most impressive boats of the Royal Navy's fleet. It was lovely." He twisted a stray thread out of her dress, winding it around her finger and snapping it off. " When I was eighteen, I met a boy. He was young, and served as a cabin boy on a sloop called _The Silver Star_. It was a lovely little ship, nothing more than a gold runner from the Americas. He made little money, but I loved him deeply."

She looked away, wiping at her eyes. Will wanted to comfort her, but didn't know how. He reached out and put his hand on top of hers, patting it gently. She sniffled. " He came to my home to ask my father for my hand. My father was furious. He closed the door in his face, leaving him standing out there, holding his hat. I wasn't allowed to marry such a lower class man, he told me. But I didn't care. I wrote to him and told him I would run off with him, to wherever he wanted to go. He offered Tortuga."

She shrugged. " I was young, silly, a foolish little girl. I couldn't even curl my hair by myself, tie a corset…and now I had just offered to run away with a boy my age." She sniffed, shaking her head. " We lived simply at first, in a tiny room above one of the local taverns…He went sailing twice a month, but I tended tables and made enough to make him comfortable when he came home."

Will whispered, " What happened?"

Jeanette sighed. " He sailed for Hispanolia one summer and returned far too late, sickly and pale and shaking. He began coughing up blood, great red drops all over the bed, all over his clothes…I didn't know what to do. I was young, afraid, I knew no one except for some of the maiden wenches down in the tavern. They couldn't help. He died in my arms, blood dried on his lips, on my dress. I had no idea." She sobbed once, short. " I've let my tears dry since then. It took many months, but I've done it. I needed to find a way to support myself, so I…" She looked too pained to continue.

Will squeezed her hand. " It's all right. You're safe now." She looked up at him. " I shall care for you, until we can find somewhere safer to go," he said solemnly.

Jeanette sighed. " It's no use. I'll most likely get as sick as he did…die in this wretched sands."

Will shook his head, turning her to face him. " Don't say that. Don't ever say that. Losing hope is almost as terrible as dying."

A lone tear fell down her face. Will gently wiped it away. He looked out to the ocean with her, his eyes tired.

" Never lose hope."

--

_Noelle lifted the flute to her lips, blowing into it, unsure. Tiny hesitant bursts out of sound issued forth. She drew it back, laughing and giving it back to the street vendor. " Thank you."_

_Hector placed his arm on her back, guiding her through the stands. Brilliant parrots flew overhead, their colors like flecks of paint against the sky. Heaps of fruits and vegetables were piled alongside the walkway, fish hung from tiny lines, and roasted meats scented the air. A man juggling swords smiled at her, bowing smartly. _

_Noelle turned to Hector, smiling. " Thank you for leaving the dinner, darling," she said softly. " You know how I hate those silly parties."_

_Hector smiled. " My employers will understand, I'm sure." He laid a hand on his pistol, which was barely concealed beneath his elegant emerald jacket with the silver threading. _

_Noelle laughed. " You are a scoundrel!" She suddenly tore away, running down the embankment, through the reeds and bushes to the seaside. Hector cast one wary glance over his shoulder before plunging into the rushes, as well, following her with quick feet. She stood in the shallowest waves, on a sandbar, twirling in the waters that came and receded._

_Hector followed her into the water, gathering her into his arms and kissing her tenderly. She laughed, sprinkling him with water and untying the short bit of hair that was pulled back. He cried out, but she danced away, holding the black ribbon aloft. She held it just above his head, prancing back as he stepped forward._

" _You've got to catch it, love! You've got to catch it if you want to catch me!" She turned and ran, sprinting down the length of the beach, jumping lightly over driftwood, nesting seagulls and bits of kelp. Hector ran after her, his stately jacket sprayed with sand from her fleeing feet._

" _Come back!" he shouted, laughing. " That's my ribbon you've got there!"_

_Noelle turned and screamed," It's mine now, Captain!" She pivoted, neatly avoiding a small pile of mussel shells. The sunset's rays gleamed off of her hair, red and shimmering. Hector watched her, unable to look away. _

_At last, she tired, sitting cross-legged on the beach and tying her own hair back with the ribbon. Hector sat beside her, kissing her neck." Do you know where we are?" she asked craftily. _

_Hector shook his head. " No. I haven't the slightest, dear." _

_Noelle pointed upward, to an elegant residence perched on the edge of the rocks. Men in elegant white wigs and powder blue jackets were standing, murmuring and looking down on them disapprovingly. She craned her neck back and laughed, waving. _

_Hector gasped, his heart sinking. " Oh, good Lord. We can't have. The dinner guests…Lord Willcombe…"_

_Noelle giggled. " What does it matter? Let's really give them something to gawk at…" _

Barbossa glared at Jack as he swaggered out of Elizabeth's cabin early that morning, while the sky was still gray and tinged with scarlet. " I trust ye found her cabin comfortable."

Jack nodded. " Oh, quite, mate. Very sturdy…flooring. Acceptable drapery." He nodded. " Very nice."

Barbossa leaned over the railing. " Ye know, Jack, a woman's not a trinket to be trifled with. She ought to be treated with care, as one might treat a…a flintlock in the midst of a tempest, fer example. Kept safe, kept close."

Jack pointed out, extending a finger for emphasis, " And tended so she doesn't explode. Am I right?" He grinned once, quickly, dashingly. The smile crumpled like wet parchment as he looked at the steel in Barbossa's eyes.

Barbossa growled, " Ye need ter care fer Elizabeth, Jack. She's healthy fer ye. She's beautiful, clever, sharp as a whip."

" I can't give her a little kiss on the lips," Jack protested," but you can designate a woman as part of your close-combat artillery. I fail to see the sense and fairness in that."

Barbossa said pointedly, " That's not what I mean. Watch her, Jack. Ye don't know when ye might lose her."

--

_A/N: I will be quite busy for the next 2 weeks, but I will update as soon and as often as I can. Thank you all for your continued patience, and kind reviews._


	9. Blood Ties

**Fate Intervenes**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Blood Ties **

Breakfast aboard _The Silver Dagger_ was tense at best. Amidst the gentle clinking of tentative silverware and the quiet chews of the men, the usual cutthroat, "outrun 'em and slit 'em" conversation was dead. All eyes were faceted, unwittingly, on Elizabeth and Jack. The former sat in a simple rose-colored dress, her hair piled around her shoulders. She ate without looking up, her high eyebrows arched even further as she starred down at the table. Jack was piling food in unceremoniously, kicking back his heels when finished and scratching at his hair. For once, he had willingly taken his hat off.

Barbossa growled, his own hat at his feet, " Look at the lot of ye, gibberin' like lubbers at the sight of these two. Eat yer hardtack and get ter work. And no gossipin'," he said as the men rose, guilt in their heavy eyes. " Don't think I don't hear ye chatterin' away like upper society powdered women."

The men left, twisting their hats in their hands. As soon as they had departed, Barbossa rose swiftly to his feet and locked the cabin doors, drawing the curtains. Turning round on his heel, he whispered, " I sighted _The Flying Dutchman_ three leagues north this morn, five o'clock or so. We've got ter deliver the souls."

Jack licked his front teeth. " Even if I'm here? Why waste the lot of them if you can use them to, say, pull rigging and such?" He sighed, tightening a buckle on his boot. " And besides, where shall I go?"

Barbossa sniffed. " An island."

Jack cocked his head to the side and shook a finger. " This is all sounding eerily familiar."

Elizabeth tensed.

He worked his lips, then leaned forward. " I don't like it."

Elizabeth reached for his hand. " He's not marooning you." She turned to Barbossa, her eyes shooting daggers. " Are you." It wasn't a question.

Barbossa shook his head. " A 'course not," he said, spreading his hands. The black spot glared back.

"Eeh," Jack mutterec, recoiling.

" A promise is a promise, ye see," Barbossa said, his voice low. " Ye can't break a vow with Davy Jones. Then ye're breakin' covenant with the very soul of the sea itself."

Jack took a large swig of ale, wiping his lips afterward with the back of his hand. " You've taken quite a risk in taking be aboard your ship, Captain," he said quietly.

Barbossa's eyes rested on Elizabeth for a moment. " 'Twasn't fer you, Jack." He stood, opening the curtain slightly and gazing out at the sea with his hands behind his back. " There's always been this feeling, ye know…that the world is, perhaps, greater than the men who live in it. It's this feelin' that…well…" He stopped. " Heh, now I'm spreadin' me philosophy all over this ship."

Jack stood, his chair sliding back with a screech. " I understand." He coughed, standing near the table. " Perhaps…putting me on the island would be best. But let's choose somewhere a _bit_ more hospitable, eh?"

Barbossa's lips twitched. " So be it." He walked to a ma hogany cabinet and unlocked it with a set of polished silver keys. Reaching in, he extracted a roll of parchment. Spreading it on the table, he held it down with two heavy, empty goblets made of pewter. He thrust a finger in the middle of the map. " We'll put ye right back where ye belong."

" Port Royal?" Jack stepped back, stunned. " You can't do that to me. I'm a wanted man."

Elizabeth murmured, " And I'm a wanted woman."

Barbossa snarled, " The two of ye would get in far less trouble if you spent less time cavorting and more time asea. 'Tis safer out here."

" Then why make me leave?" Jack whispered slyly.

Barbossa growled, " Ye tread thin ice, Jack."

Jack muttered, " It's about to break if you don't make a decision." Barbossa's eyes flashed. Jack cleared his throat. " Captain."

Barbossa sighed, hunched over the map. " I'd much rather leave the two of ye ashore somewhere safe and pursue Davy myself."

Jack rested his hand on his pistol. " I'd like to help you, to repay debts long since owed and friendship long since lost." He tried a smile. It faltered. " Please. Don't do this alone."

Barbossa murmured, his eyes never leaving the tabletop," I've been to hell and back, Jack. I've felt the chill of death and the warmth of life. What has a man like me to lose? How can he rest with the knowledge that he never reclaimed what was rightfully his? That he never fought for what was true? I'd rather suffocate in the depths than know I died a failure's death."

Elizabeth sighed. " It doesn't have to be this way. She would have---"

Barbossa sniffed. " She doesn't know what I've become. 'Tis better that way." He sighed. " I'll leave ye on Tortuga to find yer own passage. Wherever ye intend to go."

Jack smiled. " I'll make sure to write."

Barbossa locked eyes with him, and a cloud passed overhead. The cabin grew dark, gray, and cold. Shadows flitted across the floorboards. " Davy's lockers have no numbers, Jack."

--

Will sat with his back against the hut, tying leather straps together, fashioning a net. He held in his hand a narrow, sharpened piece of driftwood, which he used to thread the longer strands into straps. To the straps he tied small sacks of linen, which held heavy sand.

Jeanette watched him, her eyes heavily lined in black. She applied a generous layer of rouge, wiping it in large circles, dotting a beauty mark with a piece of burn wood, the ash forming a perfect circle. Sbe tightened her corset, adjusted her stockings, and spit on her hand, shining her shoes. She stood, shaking the sand out of her dress. " Lovely?"

Will turned, sighing. " You'll never go hungry again, Jeanette. You'll never have to do this again. I promise you."

" Mother!"

Will turned, his eyes wide. A young boy in torn brown knickers and a white shirt, torn on one shoulder, was running down the sandbar. He carried a bag full of half-rotted vegetables and fruits, as well as a rather large baguette. His blonde hair was tousled and full of sand. He ran to the hut, panting. " Mother, I'm back." He turned to Will, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders.

Will stood, extending his hand and smiling, through it was a frozen smile. " Hello, lad. What's your name?"

The boy smiled bravely, shaking Will's hand with a strong grip. " Leonard Sparrow. Most call me Leon. And yours?"

Will gulped, though he quickly turned it into a coughing fit. He sat, leaning against the hut. " Ah…Will. Ahem. Will Turner."

Leonard grinned. " Pleased to meet you." He turned to Jeanette. " J'ai obtenu la nourriture, comme vous avez demandé, la mère."

" Merci, mon fils. Je vous aime beaucoup. Vous me faites fier," Jeanette said quietly, ruffling his hair and ripping the baguette into thirds.

Leon turned to Will. " You are very pale, sir." He reached into the bag. " Would you like an apple? It's very good for you."

Jeanette smiled, though it was tense. " He has all of his own teeth still, my little boy. He's a gift from God."

Will smiled. " Indeed he is a wonderful young man, and a credit to his father."

Leon shrugged. " I do not know my father. He's dead."

Jeanette looked as if she wanted to explain something, but stopped. Instead, she smoothed her dress. " Mummy needs to work now, dearest. Stay with Monsieur Turner, will you?"

Leon nodded, smiling. " I will, Mother. Rester sûr."

Jeanette smiled. " Toujours, mon cher. " She turned and walked away, lifting her skirts.

Will turned to Leon, who admired his handiwork with the net. " Your father…do you know of him?"

Leon furrowed his brow as he attempted to help Will untangle various pieces of leather. " I know he was very ill before he died," he said slowly, his tongue between his teeth for a moment as he pulled on the leather. " I also know that mother loved him very much."

Will nodded, looking out to the sea. He pictured the horrible Kraken, rising out of the foaming waves, enveloping Jack in its wretched, salivating maw, its hundreds of fangs penetrating cloth and flesh, dragging him under the sea…

Leon patted his shoulder. " Monsieur?"

Will blinked rapidly. " I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

" Did you know him? My father?"

Will swallowed. The moment of truth. " Was his name Jack?"

Leon looked puzzled. " Jack? No. No, his name was not Jack. It was Hugh. My mother told me it means spirit, and that he's always with me." He grinned. " She says I have his eyes."

Will looked into the boy's face. They were a deep, steady brown, like Jack's. But Jack's name obviously was not Hugh. Did he have a brother, long dead? Did he know? " Have you met any other members of his family?"

Leon shook his head. " Not of my father's, no. And not of my mother's, either. She has told me of her past." Will was startled. " She felt I should know the truth, Monsieur. She would never lie to me."

Will felt the heavy lead feeling of guilt settle into him. He barely knew this woman, and already he had believed that his best--and lost--friend had conceived an illegitimate child with her years before. " How old are you?" he asked quietly, drawing a line in the sand with his finger.

Leon smiled. " Eight. But I shall be nine in two months and…" He screwed up his face, his nose wrinkling. " Three days, Monsieur."

" Does your mother speak French to you often?"

" Her family is French," Leon said calmly. " She grew up speaking French. Only when she began taking lessons as a young girl did she learn English. It's a good thing, too, otherwise we would never have any money. Many of the men who pass through are French corsairs or English pirates." He sighed. " I wonder if my father was a pirate."

Words lingered on the tip of Will's tongue. How he longed to tell Leon all about his uncle, his brave uncle, who battled foes greater than imagined and struck bargains with some of the swarthiest men of the sea, only to perish saving the one woman in the world he'd ever truly loved.

Leon held his hand up to the horizon, counting his fingers. " We have two hours," he said, stacking his hands atop one another," until the sun sets. Mother will not be home until morning."

Will sighed. " No. No, she won't."


	10. Heart to Heart

**Fate Intervenes**

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Heart to Heart**

Jack stood on deck, wrapping a piece of thin cloth around his hand, flexing his fingers experimentally. The black spot had not worn off yet. He had noticed Barbossa's at breakfast, and had decided to keep quiet about his own. Tensions were high enough aboard the ship.

He could tell, by some stiffness in her shoulders, and some glint in her eye, that Elizabeth was not pleased to be traveling to Tortuga. It was clearly not an island that suited her. For his part, Jack did not look forward to encountering any of the women he'd met over the past several years there. Most of his conversations with them, however pleasant, ended in pain.

Barbossa walked up to him slowly, arms crossed over his chest. His boots thumped heavily against the planks as he sighed deeply, looking out over the water. The sails creaked comfortingly above, the heat of the sun releasing the scents of coiled rope and oil into the air. " Truth be told," he said slowly, " I'm glad to see ye aboard my ship again, Jack." He blinked his steel-blue eyes silently, watching as Jack tightened his bandage without a word. " I know what hungers for ye, Jack, and I swear I'll do all I can to get ye out of it. But there are some vendettas I must settle on my own, without your aid. As…helpful as it is."

Jack nodded. " I know, mate," he said quietly, his voice a gentle rasp, like grains of white sand. He drummed his fingers along the gunwale, leaning forward a bit and admiring the hull. " When you see me next, we'll give her a careening and a thorough once over, shall we?"

Barbossa nodded silently.

Jack leaned against the gunwale and faced Barbossa. For the first time, he saw lightness in his skin, glimmers in his eyes, a cleanliness to his hair and lips that made him appear less like a carbuncle and more like a Captain. Barbossa's eyes rested on him, passive, unwavering. " Don't do this, mate." Jack licked his lips. " Don't risk the life you've just obtained searching for something on yon horizon that's not to be found."

Barbossa shook his head. " I'm not looking for her. I don't want the locket, or the heart, or the bloody organ," he added with a snarl.

" I want my vindiction back. I want the knowledge that it wasn't my doing. I need to know what Davy did to her that made her turn away."

Jack laid a hand on Barbossa's shoulder. " You did nothing wrong. You were overcome with sensual attraction and a longing for passion on the seas, just as any man would be. It's in the past, Captain," he said quietly. " It's time to let it go."

Barbossa's hand rested on his pistol. " Old habits die hard, Jack."

Jack leveled gazes with him. " But must _you_?"

--

Elizabeth folded her clothing carefully, or what was left of it, placing it in a leather rucksack and setting it on the edge of her bed. She rehung her lantern from the ceiling, lighting another candle and inhaling the sweet and sharp scent of melting wax. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she drew her knees up to her chin, staring out the window. The overcast afternoon sky glared back, unyielding. To the east lay Tortuga, a tiny strip of misty gray along the horizon line of the sea. She didn't want to go there, be there, live there. The air on the island felt like a toxin slowly seeping into her every pore. The men their looked at her with an avarice and greed she'd never seen even in the blackest hearts of pirates.

Jack opened the door quietly. He peeked his head in, his dark eyes and the brilliant whites of them stunning in the half light of her cabin.

Elizabeth whispered, " Jack, I don't want to go."

Jack nodded, sitting beside her. " Tortuga is no place for Elizabeth Swann." He lifted a hand and cupped her face in it. She leaned into it, then settled her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. He stroked her hair and murmured, " Perhaps I can persuade Barbossa to change his mind. He's a driven man, you know, plans of his own and personal duties to fulfill and all of that."

Elizabeth felt a hot tear slide down her cheek. " Will's in Tortuga," she said, her voice hushed. " I don't want to go there and see his face, feel the shame."

Jack turned her gently to face him. " What do you have to feel ashamed for?" he whispered. " Love has no reason for reconciliation. It has no explanation. How else could you fall for a salty man of the sea such as myself? What else would compel you to be drawn to the stench of rum and sand?"

Elizabeth turned to him, her eyes moist. " I love you." Her full, pink lips barely moved. " Oh, God, Jack, I love you so much." She kissed him tenderly, passionately. She whispered, eyes closed, her face in the crook of his neck and shoulder, " Promise me, no matter what happens…you'll stay with me." She wrapped her thinnest finger around a lock of his hair. " That, even if you get cast into a locker, or arrested, or…God-forbid, hanged…" She closed her eyes tighter. " You'll let me go with you." Her breath was hot on his neck, a Caribbean breeze.

Jack leaned his head on the top of hers, inhaling the warm scent of her hair, gazing at the flecks of sunlight it reflected with a chocolate and amber glow. " If that's want you want, love, I shan't stand in the way."

Elizabeth curled up tighter, closer, to him. " If there's anything I'm terrified of, Jack, it's losing you again. I'd rather die with you than live without you."

" And what shall you do when I am old and gray, blind and with not a single one of my own teeth in my head?"

Elizabeth smiled, stroking his chin. " I shall love you."

Jack's eyes lit with a mischievous fire. " And what if I parade about in the streets wearing naught but my silky mauve knickers and your bonnet?" He waggled his eyebrows. " Or, perhaps, just the bonnet?"

Elizabeth grinned. " I shall love you still."

Jack thought deeply about his next proposal. " Perhaps I was adrift at sea in a horrendous storm, tossed about on the foaming waves, and was finally hauled onto the deck in the middle of the night by untrustworthy pirates?"

Elizabeth whispered, pressing herself closer, " Then I would make passionate love to you."

Jack smiled. " Fair enough."

--

Barbossa stood in his cabin, poring over maps, when Jack burst in, unnaturally clean and well-groomed. " Good evenin' Jack," he said coolly. " In your attempts to hide your…relations…you've managed to pull yourself together rather nicely. Bravo." He clapped slowly. " What is it ye want? Another lecture?" He circled around the table. " Another heart to heart?"

Jack smiled, pointing his finger." You'd need to have a heart to carry on such a discussion mate, and seeing as mine has been sold to some rather dubious sources and the presence of yours is rather debatable, I'd say it can't be done. Aye?"

Barbossa sniffed. " What do you want, Jack?" he repeated, stoically crossing his arms over his chest.

Jack twirled a compass absently. " Elizabeth does not want to go to Tortuga," he said, dispensing with all pleasantries. " She does not want to draw near the island so much as a league."

" And why is that?"

Jack smirked sardonically. " The eunuch."

"Ahhh," Barbossa mused. His long vocalization sounded like ground conch shells rubbed in an open wound. He coughed. " Can ye think of any better place to take her?"

" Port Royal is not safe, Petit Goave is--"

" We've already been there."

" You took Elizabeth _there_?" Jack started, leaning forward. His eyes were dark, like a lightning storm in an August night sky.

Barbossa shrugged. " She was looking for you, Jack. She was bound on goin' to Hell and back for ye."

Jack sighed. " You nearly did."

Barbossa coughed again. " If ye think of a better place to stay, I'll drop anchor there and ye can stay. If and when I return I shall fetch ye."

Jack shifted his boots. " Captain…"

Barbossa raised a hand. " None of this. No heart--", he patted his chest, "--remember?"

Jack studied the map before him. " Antigua," he said finally. " Lush vegetation, hospitable inhabitants…clean water," he said with a grin. " Parrots and such. Elizabeth would love it."

" Aye, she would indeed," Barbossa nodded. He paced slowly. " We'll be goin' against the Trade Winds." Something in his step had changed, something had slowed…his boots were like lead and iron, fastened with granite. His eyes had dulled. Even his breath seemed to have slowed.

" I know," Jack said slowly. " If you don't want to take us--"

" I'll take ye, Jack, on one condition." Barbossa knelt beside an old trunk. Despite its obvious age, the brass clasps were well polished, the mahogany wood kept clean and free of dust. He extracted a key from his pocket and pushed it in, twisting it carefully.

He opened it, and with a slow creak the top moved back against the wall. The inside was like a musty twilight, though something pale white and faintly lustrous was folded neatly on the bottom, atop a bedding of what appeared to be violet velvet.

Barbossa held up a dress, pale white, with delicate lace trim and a plunging neckline. A corset laced up the back elegantly. It had no sleeves.

Jack marveled at it. It was beautiful, this he knew even if he knew nothing else about women's fashions other than how to remove them.

Barbossa's eyes were moist. " 'Twas hers, Jack. Take Elizabeth to Antigua, take her there and marry her and give her the best years of your life. 'Tis the best thing to do for the woman you love more than life itself." He held Jack's gaze for a moment, his eyes like glass. When Jack feared they might shatter and dissolve into sharp crystalline tears, he turned away, looking at the dress.

" I don't…I…thank you," he said softly.

Barbossa nodded. " You're welcome Jack." He rested his hand on his shoulder as they both saw Elizabeth, through the open door, standing on the side of the ship, closing her eyes and leaning into the wind, arms open to encompass the sea.

" Give her the world."

* * *

Thank you for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated. )


	11. Caribbean Wildfire

**Fate Intervenes**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Caribbean Wildfire **

Antigua's coastline loomed not as an island inhabited by bloodthirsty natives would, with ominous fog and layers of ash hovering in the air, but with the golden shimmer of a Caribbean sunset on its edges. The trees swayed gently in the warm breeze, and the hills and mountains were pale blue and lavender in the darkening light.

Elizabeth stood on the edge of the deck, her hair caught on the wind. " Oh, Jack," she said, grinning, " It's absolutely lovely."

Jack rested his hand on her back gently, lightly, fanned out. Even the slightest touch could be intoxicating. " We'll be there soon enough, love. We just need to make sure all preparations have been made, goats tended to, drunken sailors awoken…the usual." He waggled his eyebrows.

Elizabeth turned to face him, lifting a bejeweled, tanned hand to her lips and kissing it. She drew it back, inspecting it, running her pale fingers over it lovingly. She twisted an onyx ring set in ornate gold experimentally. " What are we doing on Antigua, Jack? Is Barbossa looking for Davey there?"

Jack shook his head, but while sshe was preoccupied in his bandages and rings, he realized she couldn't see it. His brown eyes were deep and passionate as he said softly, " No. Nothing of that kind. Darkness and foul seas can't touch this place. It's like a city of gold, paved in pearls and strung out in silk, where the most colorful birds made of sequins and lace fly about your head, sprinkling down raindrops made of sugar and lilac."

Elizabeth laughed. "How magical!"

Jack slid his finger under her chin, lifting it. " It's where the deepest parts of you become exposed, like sapphire lakes in crystal caves that suddenly open up to the heavens. Hideous scars and tales of torture do not occur here."

Elizabeth smiled, kissing him softly. " Oh, Jack."

Jack dropped to one knee, and knowing full well that he had no ring to give her, he simply held her hand, looking into her eyes, never taking his own off of them. They sparkled, honey and warm, in the sunset. With the red, fiery setting sun behind him, Jack murmured, " Elizabeth…would you do me the unending pleasure and satisfaction of marrying me?"

Elizabeth fell to the floor, crying in happiness. She clutched him to her chest, laughing and sobbing. " Yes! Oh, yes, Jack…Yes, I love you, of course…" Inwardly, she thought, _I'm babbling like an idiot…oh, dear._ But her elation overcame her grammatical sensibilities.

There was no longer any need for words today.

--

Will sat on the beach, a well-developed tan on his back and shoulders, stronger now than they had been even a month ago. He had found a job, hauling dripping, salty nets off of the sides of fishing sloops and emptying them of their cargo. No one had wanted a young, talented and fresh young blacksmith on Tortuga.

It was a grinding job, with little pay, but it kept him busy, kept the sea in his face, and kept the memories at his back.

The sun was setting now, the sky red. " Red sky at night…" he murmured. How long had it been since he'd heard that? Since he'd been on a true ship, bound for exotic islands?

Did he even miss it?

" Piracy is _not_ in my blood," he said furiously. He picked up a piece of a sharp rock, standing and marching to the edge of the water. It lapped at his feet, curling around his toes like a cold lover. " It's not!" he yelled, throwing the rock out to sea. It splashed loudly.

He withdrew his knife from his pocket, the crusty, muddied one his father had given him. He had scraped off the barnacles and various growths, cleaned it and whittled the old, rotting wood away. Like shedding a skin. Like forgetting everything.

_Call me Elizabeth._

" I hate you!" he cried, clenching his fists. " You whore, I hate you!" Tears slipped down his cheeks. " Why did you do this to me?! Why did you lie? Why did you forget? Why did he even exist?!"

He crumpled to his knees, sobbing. Her face was still burned into his mind, into the insides of his eyelids.

_I meant it, Will._

" No, you didn't! You loved me! We were to be married! I loved you!" He closed his eyes, fighting back more tears, but they came anyway. " _I loved you _!"

He heard footsteps behind him. He turned, wiping at his face. Leon approached, his cheeks pale. " Mother is ill."

Will stopped. " What?"

Leon was shaking, his eyes watery. " She is ill…I don't understand, she's coughing up blood…it's all over her clothes…"

Will felt something heavy and leaden in him sink to the sand. " Oh, no." He ran to their tiny hut, throwing aside the silk scrim he'd nailed up to keep the mosquitoes away.

Jeanette lay on a pile of clothes and rags, a white linen held to her mouth. Her face was sweaty and pale. She was shaking violently.

" W-Will…" She coughed again. Blood spurted crimson onto the linen. Her eyes were pleading. " Je suis malade. Je meurs."

Will turned to Leon. " What?"

" She's sick…she's dying," Leon whispered. He whimpered softly.

Jeanette closed her eyes as Will knelt beside her.

" Non, la mère, s'il vous plaît. Ne pas me partir seul. Je vous aime!" Leon cried, throwing himself at her. He clutched her hand.

" I love you, my son," she whispered, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She was wheezing louder now, her eyes wide, her lips tinged blue. " Stay with Will…he will keep you safe until you are old enough to be alone."

" I don't want to be alone!" Leon cried, sobbing. He wiped at his mother's eyes, rubbing off her mascara, her layers of rouge. He struggled to keep her comfortable. " S'il vous plaît!"

Will stood abruptly. " A doctor…I must find a doctor!" He started to run when Jeanette wheezed.

" No one will help a common prostitute," she said softly. " No one. Not even a doctor of the peasants will help me."

Will set his jaw. " I'll make them. For you, for your son."

" It is too late for me, William Turner."

Leon cried out, " No! Mother, let him help you!"

Will ran off before she could deny him the opportunity to help. He wasn't going to leave the little boy an orphan. Not while he knew the truth.

Not while he could save two lives instead of one.

--

The streets winding through Tortuga were covered in palm leaves, the hairy husks of coconuts, and slick, foul-smelling oil that Will couldn't identify. He ran and ducked his head into various tents, coughing over the incense, wincing at the rattle of old beads and bones. Even a witch doctor would be better than nothing.

He found no one. He climbed to the top of a palm tree, wriggling up and locking his ankles together. He waved his hands furiously. "Help! Can some one help me? Please! A woman is very ill, she's dying!"

A young peasant girl, her dark hair tied back, her cheeks flushed in the sun, balanced a basket of fine washing on her hip. He wiped her other hand on her apron. " Go back home to her, lad. It's the consumption in her. It kills one, just as it kills everyone else. It's a slow but sure death here. Better than drying out in the sun." She sighed.

Will scrambled down the tree as the girl began walking away. " Please…help me."

The girl looked down. Now he realized she wasn't being crude or irritable, she was only speaking the truth. " My mum and father died of it, Sir. As did my master's mum. Once it spreads round, there's no stopping it. They call it Caribbean Wildfire here, Sir. Bit of a joke. You can always rebuild after the flames destroy everything you've got. But when it's a life you lose…" She hung her head.

Will bit his lip. " Are there no doctors?"

She looked at his clothing. " There may be one, Sir. But you'll have to hurry. He's at my master's plantation now, tending to the missus."

Will nodded, spreading his hands and backing up quickly. " Please…yes…thank you…stay right there. D-Don't move!"

He sprinted back to the beach hut, nearly kicking sand in Leon's face as he knelt beside his mother with a cool cloth on her face. " Leon, help me get your mother up. I've found a doctor."

Jeanette could only wheeze in reply, waving a feeble hand.

Leon's eyes were resolute. " Come, mother. Please."

Together, they lifted the pale and trembling woman, slick with cold sweat. Will carried her in his arms, firmly but gently, and brought her to where the girl stood, wringing out the washing in a nearby hedge. She looked up. " My word! Come with me, quickly, Sir." She grabbed the basket and ran as fast as she could, her dark hair flying.

They hurried up and around a row of trees, onto a long cobblestone way that led to an enormous mansion, alabaster white with red shingles. There were more windows with silk curtains than Will could count. It reminded him of Elizabeth's home, clean, tidy, far removed from the dealings of the common folk.

The girl took them to a side entrance, for servants only, and even the door, with paint chipping, was grand. She set the washing down and scurried into the next room, bowing. " Master Whitcomb," she said softly.

A deep, cultured voice intoned, " Yes, Amaryllis?"

Amaryllis curtsied. " My Lord, there is a young man here with a very ill woman and a young boy…I offered the services of Doctor Hasbrooke, I hope he does not object. I apologize if I was too forward, My Lord."

There was the slow creaking of wood as Whitcomb apparently stood. Heavy footsteps until he appeared, tall and thin, black hair swept dashingly back from his temples. He wore an elegant navy blue jacket with gold brocade and crisp ivory trousers. He inspected them thoughtfully, his dark eyes passive.

" She does indeed appear quite ill, indeed," he said slowly. He waved a hand, on which was a large onyx ring. " Please, come." He guided them into the adjacent room. It was crimson and gold, thick tapestries on the walls, exotic plants in the corners. Gilded frames with portraits of royalty were hung.

A woman in a soft pink dress stood, and a doctor in a dark coat at her side turned round. She was beautiful, her face porcelain-white and her eyes a deep blue. " Please, sit." She hurried to Jeanette and pressed a soft white hand to her forehead. " Oh, dear."

Jeanette mumbled something. " I'm so sorry…"

The woman smiled, brushing back her hair comfortingly. " Please, no, do not worry. It is no trouble." She had a faintly French accent, and at this Jeanette's eyes lit up, briefly, like a flicker of flame in a dying candle.

They spoke quickly in French for a moment, and Will caught the words "Hugh" and what sounded like "sand-gray." He looked worriedly at Whitcomb.

" Blood," he whispered.

Will felt all color drain from his face. Amaryllis stood obediently off to the side, her hands clasped before her. She had been right. Had Jeanette known? How long had she been ill?

The woman spoke quickly to Amaryllis, and the two of them gestured to Will to bring Jeanette upstairs. The doctor followed, his footsteps light on the long, winding mahogany stairs. Will was astonished by the beauty of the house, how it permeated every fixture. When they had gently laid Jeanette on a clean, soft blue bed, the woman turned to Will. "

" This is not a place for you to be, Sir," she said quietly. " We must make sure she is well, and it is not appropriate for you to stay."

" But I cared for her--"

" S'il vous plaît, Monsieur," she said urgently. Jeanette coughed loudly behind them, a wet rattle. She lifted her hand with a cry. Blood was speckled on her palm.

Will hurried to her, laying a hand on her cheek. " You'll be fine, you'll be well, Jeanette…"

Leon whimpered from the doorway. " Mama…" Amaryllis gently guided him out, her face pinched in worry.

" Au revoir, mon fils. Etre bien et sûr. Je vous aime. Vous êtes ma vie," Jeanette whispered.

Will and Leon backed out, and the door closed on them.

Closed on many things.

--

Sunset spilled throught the windows of the elegant parlor as Will and Leon sat, sipping tea with Whitcomb. His wife was still upstairs, tending to Jeanette with the doctor. They had been there all day. Whitcomb still appeared fresh and cool, still smelling strongly of an expensive cologne. Will was rumpled and dirty, and Leon's face was smudged.

Whitcomb had been speaking easily of the trade Will had been in previously, of various swords he'd come across, sabres he'd ordered specially for himself and the décor of his home, when he fell silent. He inspected Leon quietly, sipping his tea gingerly.

" Does the boy have any skills?"

Leon lifted his eyes. " Monsieur?"

Whitcomb's brows were arched in contemplation. " I'm simply asking…if the boy's mother does not fare well, I would take him in my home as one of my staff…a stable boy, a kitchen servant, something of the kind. He will need to be taken care of, and after the unfortunate circumstances that you've related to me, Master Turner, I do not think, with all do respect, that he will be sufficiently cared for by you."

Will hung his head. " Neither do I. Had my situation been different, I would have tended to him as my own son."

Leon's eyes shimmered with tears. " Thank you, Will."

Will nodded, squeezing his shoulder.

Amaryllis appeared, her face flushed. " My apologies," she said, curtsying. Will and Whitcomb stood. " The mistress has expired. The good Doctor tried everything he could, but I'm afraid the smelling salts were not potent enough."

Leon looked away from the adults, holding his head in his hands and sniffling. Will and Whitcomb exchanged a glance. Will knelt beside Leon, grasping his knee. " Your mother loved you very much, Leon."

" Why did she have to die?"

_Why did you do this to me?! Why did you lie? Why did you forget? _

Will sighed. " I don't know, Leon. I don't know."

Whitcomb patted Leon's shoulder. " It's time to start over, Leonard. Your mother's memory will never be forgotten. Treasure it as you grow into a man she would have admired."

Leon nodded.

Will could only languish in the pain of his own memories.


	12. Memorial to the Dead

**Fate Intervenes**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Memorial to the Dead**The _Silver Dagger_ swayed gently next to the dock, its mooring secured to the heavy wooden beams. It was a gentle dusk, with a hint of mist in the air, the water sparkling gold and pink with the sunset. Birds called to each other in the trees, flying about like swipes of a thick, bright paint, falling across the lush green forest like dew. 

Elizabeth walked down the gangplank, holding her skirts, made only of muslin but in a lovely shade of cream, her corset sky blue, her bonnet a mix of the two colors. She looked radiant and happy, her face a healthy honey-glow, her eyes bright and sparkling. Jack strode behind her, having scrubbed his clothes nearly all day, huddled by a swaying lantern. The tiny hold had stunk of lye and lard, but he had done his best to be careful. A few sprinkles of rum and a dash of schnapps served as his cologne. They made him feel more like himself.

As soon as Elizabeth reached the dock she removed her bonnet, folding it hastily and stuffing it into Jack's belt. " I cannot bear to wear this silly accoutrement any longer," she said with a grin. She shook out her long hair. " It constricts my hair."

Jack watched Elizabeth's eyes as she scanned the shoreline, at the white stone buildings, the swaying palm trees, the calm and peace. It was not Tortuga, it was not Port Royal…it seemed like a fresh breath of air, without the staleness and dust of a life spent cloistered. It was freedom.

She reached for Jack's hand. It was calloused and cool. She laced her fingers with his, beaming. " Oh, Jack. It's paradise."

He pressed a hand to her back, guiding her down the dock. " I knew you'd like it."

Barbossa called to them, dressed in somber black, " Don't be gettin' yerselves lost, now. Simply enjoy the…splendor." His voice quieted at the last word. " I know of places more reputable than mere taverns where we can stay. An old mate of mine, Commodore Pierre Marcel, has a bit of a lodging on an outcrop not two miles' walk from here. We make east."

Elizabeth felt a flutter in her heart. Commodore? She remembered the eager passion in his pale eyes when he had told her of his intent to court her, the way his snow white wig had fitted, curling round his ears. She was sure he had buttoned his knickers too tight and had shined his brass buckles for far too long. She missed him in a way that one might miss an old love, but hers was a love that had never blossomed. Instead she whispered to Jack behind her hand, " The Captain knows a Commodore? From the Royal Navy?"

Jack smiled. " The Captain knows all sorts, love. But yes, this particular man is…intriguing to say the least. Wealthy, for a man who openly deserted the fleets of the Crown. Decorated, for one who saw many sea battles that were lost horribly. Much bloodshed, limbs askew, grapeshot, the usual fare."

Elizabeth nodded slowly. Her eyes were still focused on Barbossa, walking away with a slow, lackluster gait. " Something isn't right."

Jack sighed, clasping her hand tighter. " Many things are not right in this world, my bonnie lass. One simply has to decide which are the least right and ignore those."

" Injustices should not be tolerated, no," Elizabeth said pensively, " but something else…something lurks behind Barbossa's shadow…like a butterfly I cannot catch." She reached out a hand.

Jack brought it to his lips, kissing it tenderly. " Trust me, love, the Captain does not attract butterflies. Ugly, rotten, poisonous ones, perhaps, but certainly not lovely ones."

--

Perched high upon a fjord of sorts, with craggy rocks protruding, and chartreuse waves crashing onto the white sand below, stood a large, sprawling home, in the plantation style of many of the homes built in the Caribbean. It was a soft blue, with black shutters and white spiraling gold staircase in the foyer. The back of the home was constructed of a large veranda and many balconies above it. The breeze brought the scents of the Caribbean in on a sigh.

Pierre Marcel strode diffidently through, wearing a long scarlet jacket and coal-black knickers. He was a fine-looking man, with long, elegant black hair and perfectly arched brows. He walked with a considerable limp, however, despite his few years in the service, which were certainly harrowing ones. He kept himself immaculately clean, expecting that one day one of his old comrades would chance upon this tiny outpost on Antigua, the last pirate hold on the island. The last source of refuge, where squandered prizes and coveted gold could be discussed openly over rum and a deck of worn playing cards. Dice? He was not so low.

The long awaited knock finally came.

He hurried to the door as fast as he could, heeled shoes scraping rhythmically across the polished wood floors. He opened the large door, and with a creak it revealed one of his oldest friends.

" Hector!" he cried. " Mary and Joseph, I haven't seen you since…" He stopped, and bowed low to Elizabeth, who curtsied. " My pleasure, my Lady."

Elizabeth grinned. " The pleasure is mine, Monsieur."

" Oh, please, I don't speak a droplet of French," Pierre said coolly, then laughed. " Come in, please. Jack," he said, clasping Jack's hand. " Wonderful to see you, lad. You're looking well."

" It's been quite some time, indeed," Barbossa mused, removing his plumed hat. He looked around. " This is quite the home ye've established, Pierre."

Pierre shrugged. " I had enough from the raid on Panama to afford this, and then some. I chose to indulge myself in fine silk brocade and damask curtains. A large home becomes excruciatingly lonely…" He trailed off again. Barbossa was trailing his hand along a tabletop, letting his fingers drag uselessly, limply. He seemed lost in thought, his head bowed.

" Chardonnay?" Pierre offered. " Or perhaps some Bordeaux? I hope you don't mind that I haven't many gla--"

" Rum?" Jack quipped quickly. Pierre studied him. " If you please," he said, bowing grandly.

Pierre rolled his eyes. " But of course. You always were one for pungent alcohol, Jack." He disappeared into a smaller room.

Barbossa murmured when he came back with pewter flagons full of rum, " I hope this isn't too much trouble, Pierre."

" Nonsense! Why, I enjoy company. You're certainly less scurvy than the last bunch who came in."

" Really?" Barbossa asked, though clearly uninterested.

" Why, yes," Pierre said, reclining on a long mauve sofa that overlooked the sea. " They tore down my bayonet and smashed it into the mango trees down the way." He tut-tutted. " Terrible waste."

Barbossa sat at the table, and took a slow sip of rum. He set it down carefully. " Do ye mind if I…traverse the island for a bit afore sleepin'?" he said, hesitating before adding, " ' Twould do me good, after the churnin' waves."

Pierre nodded. " Of course, Hector. Anything you wish is, of course, yours."

Elizabeth smiled, a grin just barely tugging at the edge of her lips. " I did not know the Captain could fall ill from the sea."

" The head is what gets you ill," Pierre said coolly, though not rudely. It seemed as if the topic of illness was a bed of eggshells, and he was barefoot, tiptoeing around it.

Jack laughed knowingly. " Aye," was all he said, though it carried a heaviness. His eyes sparkled with mischief. There were certainly stories to be told, but now was not the time.

Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap. " Captain," she said slowly, " I should like to see the island with you."

Jack rested a hand on her wrist. " Elizabeth, the Ca--"

Barbossa shook his head. " Of course ye may come, Miss Swann."

Elizabeth smiled. " Soon to be Mrs. Sparrow, Captain." A flush came to her cheeks. Jack squeezed her hand lovingly beneath the table.

Pierre almost cooed. " Oh, a wedding! How grand! I know of the most lovely arbor near the old church…no one goes there anymore, but…" He coughed.

Elizabeth grinned. " How wonderful," she laughed. " It will be absolutely perfect."

Barbossa stood, walking off into the adjacent room. There was a muffled thud as he sat on a settee.

Elizabeth's eyes grew worried. " Did I offend him?"

Jack shook his head. " No, love. This island, this entire place…the very air you breathe," he said softly. " Has ghosts."

Pierre nodded sagely, deciding for once not to exhibit his colorful and exuberant personality. Of course, if anyone had known him in his Commodore days, they would say he would hang a man rather than even allow the barest hint of a smile to pull at his lips. Of course, times changed. Wine was stronger, women were fiercer, and a man who had seen as much as he had needed to refresh his mind and erase painful memories. What better way than to spend it on splendor? He often thought his humor was to compensate for his lonely life. Now, seeing guests at his table for the first time in years, he felt desperate. He didn't want them to leave. Jack was right.

There were ghosts everywhere.

Jack continued, trying not to frighten Elizabeth, whose deep brown eyes were wide and only slightly afraid, " Ghosts that live not corporeally, of course, but dwell on the edge of thought and memory…like trying to describe the wind. You feel it, but you can't hold it or describe it." He hung his head for a moment, then gathering some metaphysical strength, lifted it.

" My family died long ago, Elizabeth. My brother's been dead for many years, at least ten. My mother died of consumption and my father died in an accident along the quays. Needless to say, it doesn't take a clever man to deduce why I am who I am."

Elizabeth whispered, " Jack…I'm so sorry."

Jack smiled wistfully, his eyes bright. " It was long ago, love. Ancient history." He stroked her cheek. " You matter now."

" Your brother…who was he?"

Jack grinned. " Hugh. Nice bold name. Masculine, kingly, all of that." He sighed. " Ran off with some lass to Tortuga. Married her, I suppose. I'm not quite sure. All I know is that the coroner wrote home, wherever home was for me at the time, and told me of his death."

Pierre chuckled. " It's hard to imagine Jack as a stationary soul, but he was, for a time."

Jack knitted his fingers together pensively. " I have no idea as to what my brother did in that time. I know he was a privateer for a while, which was a difficult piece of hardtack to swallow. My own brother hunting my blood down for doubloons. Didn't seem right."

Elizabeth nodded, unsure of what to say.

Jack heaved a sigh. " It's a blessing my mum and father weren't alive to hear he was dead. Of course, they didn't really care much for the lifestyle I led, so they had one good son to look to."

Elizabeth kissed his cheek, resting her fingers on his collarbone. " You are a fine man, Jack."

Jack whispered, " The dead can hear us, Elizabeth. They know of our sins, of our tragedies and our triumphs. They know the life I've been living has not been an admirable one." He looked into her eyes. " But they know now, for the first time in my life, I've made the right decision. I've met the most bonny lass and whisked her away with me into the sunset."

Elizabeth smiled. " So to speak." She laughed.

Heavy footsteps treaded through the hall, into the room where they sat. Barbossa emerged in the light, dressed only in his black knickers and stockings, and white shirtsleeves. A silver chain, delicate and feminine, hung around his neck, a ring dangling on the end. " Miss Swann, 'tis time fer me to be stretchin' me legs on the shore. Could an old Captain ask yer accompaniment?"

Elizabeth extended a hand regally. " Of course, Captain." He clasped her thin white fingers and lifted them, bringing her out of the chair as well. Jack draped his jacket over her shoulders.

" It's cold, love," he whispered into her ear, his breath warm and lustful on her cheek. " Come back soon." He kissed her neck, and she followed Barbossa into the darkness.

--

Elizabeth's footsteps were quieter than Barbossa's, but they both walked with a sense of reverence and peace. His gait was easy, but slow. He seemed eager and anxious but not in a hurry. Wherever they were going was a mystery to her, but not to the man she traveled with. They walked through a forest of dense green trees, the air thick and humid. It was not at all cold like Jack had said. The sea air did not reach this place to bring freshness or coolness.

Barbossa turned around to her, then pointed at a rise of hills. " 'Tis not far, Miss Swann, but around those hills lies the Church Commodore Marcel was speakin' of. Nestled in a valley, it is, full of greenery and flowers ye've never seen with yer God-given eyes."

Elizabeth sighed. " Beautiful."

They walked for several minutes more in companionable silence. Every so often, Barbossa would kneel and sniff a flower, often a delicate pink or soft white, then stand, brush soil off of his knees, and continue on.

At last, she saw through the lush greenery of the forest the wall of a gray church, the stone crumbling only slightly. A stained glass window facing her was still intact. White rose bushes grew, and she heard a waterfall in the distance.

" This church has been left alone fer years," Barbossa said in a hushed voice. " Antigua is not only a refuge for the morally-minded, but pirates respect it. There's a majesty in these hills that ought not be disrupted. Men know when there's a place for swords and gunpowder, and this is not one of them. It whispers to ye. Can ye hear it?"

Elizabeth heard a bird call out, felt the rush of air from its brilliant red wings. " Yes," she whispered.

They approached the church, Barbossa walking slower now. Elizabeth could see, as they came around the front, a row of headstones. Beyond that, there were more, older ones. In varying shades of white and gray, some black, they stretched for several meters. It was a small cemetery, but she could almost hear the silenced dead speaking to her. It was as if the mist swirling about embodied their souls.

Barbossa knelt by one white headstone. Brilliant green ivy grew around the top, curling and curving, as if lost. Like a spirit trying to go home.

The name was carved intricately, reading : _Noelle Lenore Derrington. _

Barbossa's voice was even softer. A pianissimo sound. " She was the only woman I ever loved, Miss Swann. Eyes like the sea, hair like fire…a spirit and a heart ye couldn't control, but could only hope to listen to and marvel at. She was perfection, if there ever was such a woman." He sniffed, hanging his head. His lips quivered, and he clutched the ring spasmodically. " She gave me somethin' I never thought I'd find within meself. She gave me love." He looked up, his eyes, for once, tearful. " 'Tis not often that I hear me name spoken without reference to the devil, to Hell, to all such matters and subjects as purgatory and torment." He lifted a hand to his chest. " This be the torment in here, Miss Swann. The loneliness. The fear. The ever-present, crushin' sense of bein' somethin' less because somethin' else, a piece of yer very soul, has gone missin'. And ye can't find it anywhere, on neither land nor sea, unless ye travel to a dead church and a languishing grave. The soul of the one ye love is buried beneath, whether it be waves or grass, and ye can't reach 'em. No matter how hard ye swim…no matter how ye cry out their name at night when ye think no one's listenin' in the shadows…ye can't reach 'em. Can't hold 'em, one last time."

He sobbed, the cries wracking his body. He pressed his face, his lips, to the headstone. " I love you," he whispered, tears on his lips.

Elizabeth reached out and held it tightly, pretending for a moment that it was Jack's.

_I'll hold you forever. _


	13. A Confirmation

**Fate Intervenes**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: A Confirmation **

Candles flickered in the windows of Pierre's home as Elizabeth and Barbossa drew near, cautiously treading over the foliage and delicate flowers that bloomed in the white sands along the path. He opened the door for her, and they entered the house, warm and dim. Voices echoed down the hall, and as Barbossa leaned forward he could see Jack and Pierre playing cards, Pierre elegantly holding his cards aloft, Jack reclining back in a chair with his boots up.

Barbossa reached out for Elizabeth's hand. It was warm and powder-soft.

" I would like ye ter see somethin' lovely," he said quietly. " I've a gift for ye."

Elizabeth followed, her brown eyes large. " A gift?" she asked softly. They entered the room where Barbossa had set their belongings down earlier, and had disappeared into. It was dark, in flickering night shades of crimson and the orange glow of scattered candles. He knelt beside a heavy trunk and worked the clasps. He turned to her solemnly.

" This gift is one of but two things I treasure with me every day," he said reverently. " Noelle left me these to remember her by, and neither shall Davy Jones lay so much as a salty breath on whilst I'm alive." He reached into the trunk and lifted out a beautiful wedding gown, of perfect white silk and lace.

Elizabeth stepped back, holding the garment in her arms. " Oh! It's lovely…" she murmured, sliding a hand over the fabric. " This was hers?"

" Aye. She was ter marry me in it," Barbossa said wistfully. " Years ago. She would have looked as the sea looks in the mornin'…powerful and strong, beautiful and full of the fiery sun."

Elizabeth felt her eyes burn with tears for a women she never knew. " Thank you…" she whispered. She held it close. " It smells like cinnamon."

" And that was hers, all hers," Barbossa said quietly, reaching out in the dark to close the trunk. " Jack's already seen it, but he won't be expectin' ye to walk out wearin' it with flowers in yer hair, lookin' the image of perfection."

Elizabeth bit her lip, pushing her face into the fabric. " I wish my father could see me…see me marry Jack. The way I would love to have it. Barefoot in the sand, roses and rum, the scent of the sea. I'm not a straight-laced and brocade lady, as I'm sure you know."

" Ye've still got the charm of a lady of the court," Barbossa observed, though not rudely. " It's the bearin' you carry on the sea that tells all of what's in yer soul. Ye stand on a ship, proud and true, as if none of the worldly materials clingin' to ye be needed."

Elizabeth sniffed. Moments passed in warm silence. The candles played marionettes with light on the walls. Finally, Elizabeth asked, quietly, " How did you know you loved her?"

" The same way you know you love anyone," Barbossa murmured. " When ye can't stand the thought of bein' without 'em. When every pain of theirs becomes yers to bear. When every tear that falls from their eyes, ye'd like to push and will it back. Every breath ye take is in agony if there's naught but their memory to wake and sleep by. "

Elizabeth sobbed once, short and anguished. " I love him so much."

Barbossa smiled sadly. " When ye'd rather die than live an eternity alone without 'em, ye know it in yer heart it's true. When I mention young Turner's name, what do ye do?"

" My heart…it flutters a bit. And then it stops. I wonder where he is. And then I don't worry over it any more," Elizabeth said, facing Barbossa in the dim half-light of the flickering candles.

" Will is as the breeze," Barbossa said. " He comes and goes with naught but a whisper of a feelin'. But Jack…Jack's yer sunrise and sunset. He's yer island. Ye'd drown without him."

Elizabeth nodded. " That I would." She sniffed. " I would be so lost."

Jack's voice whispered from behind her, " If there was anything that damnable compass ever did correctly, it was to point me to you, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth turned round and kissed him tenderly. Laying her head on his shoulder, she blinked into the darkness, letting him stroke the small of her back. " I love you, Jack."

--

The Caribbean breeze swept through the small island, ruffling only barely the dewy tips of the green tree leaves. Sunrise painted the rough chapel's stones brilliant gold and red, and spilled onto Elizabeth's hair like fire. She stood in the lovely silk dress, a bouquet of fresh white roses and soft pink lilies in her hands. Taking a deep breath, she turned round and laced her arm through Barbossa's. He was dressed in stark black, wearing a pair of Pierre's old buckled-shoes, shined and polished.

_It should be Father walking me down the aisle…_ She thought wistfully, treading carefully on the red rose petals scattered on the white stones before her. The small path led beneath the arbor, where Jack stood in one of Pierre's Commodore jackets, a deep naval blue with cream lapels and shining gold buttons. He wore pressed black knickers and the same black buckled shoes, but stood with an air that suggested he'd rather be wearing his shirtsleeves and letting his hair down. For the most part, it had been combed and held back in a severe military style.

He had wanted to see Elizabeth better.

Now, with the locks of hair moved back, Elizabeth could see the penetrating chocolate-brown of his eyes, his delicate chin, the caramel tan that he had accumulated over years in the hot sun, on the rolling sea. She felt like a reckless sea nymph next to him, ready to slip her scarf around her proverbial Odysseus.

Pierre stood with an open Bible beneath the Arbor, and looked out onto the small congregation that had gathered. The crew of the _Dagger_ was sitting, tense and wary, suddenly very painfully aware of the attire that they had worn. Several island residents who knew Pierre, even vaguely, attended, sitting in the front row with smiles of interest. They knew he possessed fine food and wine, and it was the festivities after the formalities which they anticipated with zeal.

Barbossa and Elizabeth walked in step, the flutter of parrot wings in the air, and the rustling of the damp leaves penetrating the silence. The sea waves crashed like whispers beyond the trees. Here, it was silence, moist but not heavy, warm but not oppressive. Like a kiss, enveloping, wrapped and sealed.

Elizabeth knelt before Jack, then stood, clasping her hand in his. On her finger she wore a thin pearl ring, and he wore his various jeweled rings and accoutrements. They would exchange these rings, symbols of their past lives, colliding with the new life they'd chosen together, hand in hand.

Pierre coughed lightly. " Good morning, gentlemen…and lady." He smiled at Elizabeth. Barbossa stood off to the side protectively, just to the left of Elizabeth. " On this most lovely and auspicious day, it is my pleasure to bring these two, this man and this woman, into holy matrimony through whatever graces God has bestowed on me insofar as I may be a priest."

Elizabeth laughed lightly, lowering her eyes. Her eyelids were painted in soft lavender and pink, and her eyes burned fiercely with love beneath. Her lips were painted rouge, thin rose petals on her pale face. Jack breathed her essence in, closing his eyes and caressing her ring finger.

" Therefore, we shall begin with the vows." He turned to Jack. " Jack Sparrow, repeat."

Jack nodded. For the first time in his life, he was nervous. The decision was right, the moment was right, and the woman was right. He swallowed. This was the biggest leap of faith he'd ever made. No time to tie down the mooring, no time to turn the sails; this ship was setting sail. It could never return.

He smiled to himself.

" I, Jack Sparrow…"

" I, Jack Sparrow…"

Jack repeated each line slowly, with conviction, staring into Elizabeth's eyes as if everything other than those two perfect orbs would drown him. "..Take thee, Elizabeth Swann, to be my wedded wife…" He spoke dutifully, and, as a composer heeds his performers, he responded to the rising song in his heart. He began to digress. Holding her hand and pressing one hand to her face, he whispered, " I love you more than life itself, Elizabeth…I love you more than the sea, than the sound of the waves…you are the only thing that matters to me, now. I will never forsake you as long as I live."

A tear slipped from Elizabeth's eyes. Jack swept it out of the way with a thin finger. " I promise you, I will never hurt you, never leave you, and will always make you happy. You're my bonny lass," he whispered with a smile.

Elizabeth laughed, sniffling.

" _I, Elizabeth Swann, take thee, Jack Sparrow, to be my wedded husband…" _

Smiling at him, she murmured, " You are my constant, Jack…my breathe, my life, my hope…you bring me happiness and joy I've never felt…This transcends love," she whispered. " It is paradise."

" _You may kiss the bride…"_

Lips met, the sun penetrating through their embrace, a light piercing through lace. The roses fell to the ground, and the congregation clapped dutifully, happily. Elizabeth reached a hand up to hold Jack's face.

Barbossa held the roses to his lips, inhaling their scent and kissing them softly. Gazing into them, the gentle swirls of the petals, the velvet sheen of dew on the perfect cream of their texture, he felt tears pricking at his eyes. Suppressing them as he always did, he turned and saw Jack's face, alight, half of it lit by the sun, the other half seemingly lit by the glow of his elation. He had never seen the boy so happy, had never seen anything so perfect.

Moments suspended in time, like raindrops in a spider web, were forever imprinted in their minds. Jack's lips, warm and soft, Elizabeth's eyes, deep and passionate, the sun rising and painting the arbor gold and red, the scent of lilies and roses, the gentle whispers of green grass beneath their feet. Clinging to memory, to thought, to beating hearts and rapid breaths. To searching eyes and clasped hands, uplifted lips and genuine laughter.

Jack could not have told Elizabeth where they would move from there, bodies moving together through the endless seas of life itself. They would stay together as one, cerulean and emerald enveloping them, until at last they lay on the white sands, breathing in the sunlight and the morning mist.

Jack turned to Elizabeth. " I love you."

Elizabeth kissed him gently. " And I you."

Confirmation of their love was almost as joyous as the love itself.

--

Elizabeth lifted a cup of steaming tea to her lips, blowing on it delicately. Standing at the window, a candle on its sill, she watched the stars glisten, one by one illuminating the velvet black of the night sky. Pierre and Barbossa had gone to the quays. Everyone had left. At last, the night was still.

Footsteps approached.

Jack slipped an arm around her waist.

" What are you watching, love?"

Elizabeth smiled. " The stars, Jack. It's so peaceful, so calming…so…forbidden to be touched or held."

Jack kissed her neck and she leaned into his touch. " Is this forbidden?"

" Of course not," she breathed. She set the tea on the sill.

" Or…this?" He ran his hand down h er back, ever so gently, lightly, like a whisper of wind.

" No," she murmured.

He held her hand, walking with her into the darkest parts of the unlit house. She followed, smiling, her eyes bright.

The tea sat on the sill, gathering the chill of night and turning cold.


	14. Into the Rising Sun

**Fate Intervenes**

**

* * *

****Chapter Fourteen: Into the Rising Sun **

Hector Barbossa opened his eyes to see the pitch black of early morning. He raised a hand above his face, splaying his fingers. He couldn't see it.

" Is this what it's like…to be dead?" he whispered.

Closing his eyes again, extinguishing the two pale gray flames that had shot into the dark, he clenched his fists. All he could see was Davy's face, suave and confident, his silvering black hair pulled back elegantly, wearing his Admiral's jacket and knickers, his gleaming sword. Noelle had not been as taken with Davy as she had with him; that he knew.

Then what was it? What had made her commit the ultimate suicide?

He stood, stretching lethargically. Walking to the windows, he drew back the thick scarlet cloth, revealing the pale gold of the rising sun on the watery sea. Heavily, he sighed, rubbing his eyes. It had been far too long. He had languished with this pain for many years. It was time to avenge her or join her.

He heard the front entryway's door open quietly, and walked out of his own room. Pierre stood in the doorway, watching the sunrise. Barbossa coughed quietly.

" Oh, good morning, Hector," Pierre said softly. " Did you sleep well?"

Barbossa nodded, looking down at the floor. " Yes, thank ye."

Pierre snorted. " When are you going to rid yourself of that terrible colloquial speech?"

Barbossa shrugged. " When it decides ter ride itself of me, I suppose."

Pierre sat at the mahogany table, sipping a cup of tea he had left there. " Sit, please, Hector."

Barbossa sat wearily, looking out the wide window, out to the world he truly knew: the sea.

Pierre set his cup of tea down and stirred it with a silver spoon aimlessly. " Hector, are you planning on finding him?"

" Yes." The word was soft and precise.

" And when you do?"

The question hung in the humid air.

Barbossa looked at Pierre. " I will demand that he restrains Calypso and has her perform the most sacred of rites…"

" The resurrection rite?" Pierre inhaled quickly. " Hector, don't do this to yourself…what if it fails?"

" Can it possibly fail more than I have? As a Captain, as a husband, as a man?" Barbossa cried. His eyes widened. " Can anything in this world possibly falter more than I have faltered?"

" Hector, I know you loved her…lad, I know every day you relive that moment…"

_Her eyes were so perfect, so wide open and pure…her lips were softly tinged with blue, her hair floating majestically…the chains didn't look painful, they appeared silvery and light, like necklaces and rings…_

Barbossa bit his lip. " Ye have no idea, Pierre."

" And if you attempt to bring back what's lost…is it worth it in the end? Is it worth it to have her back and then lose her? Regaining what is lost can be more painful than losing it," Pierre said sagely.

Barbossa sighed. " 'Tis a journey I've been meanin' ter take. Before she brought me back. Before I was given a second chance. Now, more 'an ever, I want _her_ to have that chance…She deserves another breath…"

" She took her own away, Hector."

Barbossa's face paled. " Don't ever say that again…don't you….she…she must have had--"

" Davy."

Barbossa growled, " I'm finding' him, Pierre. And when I do…I'm goin' ter throw that cursed locket into the waves. He'll know what it's like, then, ter live alone without naught but the memories." He gripped the ring around his neck. " With naught but the feeling of loneliness."

" You are not a vengeful man, Hector. This isn't you."

With careful precision, working his lips around the words as though if they touched them, it would crumble to ashes, Barbossa murmured, " You're right…it's the man I was supposed to be."

--

Jack opened one eye. He had heard footsteps on the floorboards, creaking and wary. He sat upright, reaching for his pistol.

Barbossa stood at the foot of his bed, hands up. He did not look panicked. " Fer the love o' Mary, Jack, why do ye always have ter reach for yer flintlock?"

Jack licked his teeth. " And why, pray tell, are you in my bedroom?"

Elizabeth murmured hazily, " It's Pierre's room, Jack."

Jack sighed heavily, scratching at his hair. He missed the familiar sound it made, the rustle and grit of sand and dried rum. " So…"

" I'm leavin', Jack."

" I'm not surprised. We are leaving as well."

Barbossa leveled gazes with Jack. " No, I don't mean leavin' with ye. I've got ter return those men to Tortuga, and then…"

Jack's deep brown eyes lost their mischievous spark. " You can't," he whispered.

" ' Tis the only way to die with a clean soul," Barbossa said resolutely.

Jack swung his legs off of the side of the bed, stretching. His tan muscles, lean and strong in the early morning light, were laced with blue and green tattoos. " Please, Hector." He stood. " You can't do this to yourself, mate. You're a Pirate King. Who will take your place?"

" I haven't thought that far yet, Jack," Barbossa said, with a tilted head and a mocking tone.

" Where is the Captain I used to know?" Jack asked softly. Barbossa's wild eyes stilled. " Where is the man who could plan an entire journey down to the last ounce of grapeshot? You're not a raving mad man, Hector. You're a Captain, a King."

" I'm _lost,_Jack." Barbossa's eyes were dim. " Even if there was a compass on this earth could guide me, I know it would lead me to her. And then what, Jack? What is there livin' fer then?"

" For the memories, mate. For the life you've led, the people you've affected. You've affected me." He extended his wrist, upon which was the "P" brand. " Beckett couldn't wait to find me after you turned me loose."

" Are we speakin' of the first time?"

" Aye, we are." Jack waggled his eyebrows. " Where would I be without you?"

Elizabeth whispered, " What would the world be like without Captain Barbossa?"

Barbossa thinned his lips. " I'm not changin' me mind, Jack. There's no turnin' back. No quarter."

" You don't deserve this. Davy doesn't deserve this. Neither of you did anything wrong. Love is not a crime," Jack said loudly, gripping Barbossa's wrist.

Barbossa wrenched it free. " Don't hold me to this, Jack. Don't hold me to ye. The two o' ye are the only things keeping' me two feet on land."

" Can't say the same for Davy, can we?" Jack murmured. There was no humor in his voice, no smile.

" Please, Jack. Try ter understand." Barbossa swallowed hard. " If ye knew the men we'd once been, ye would see why this means as much as it does…do ye not think I've wanted a life of solitude, free of pain and torment? Sure as day I can be a hellish Captain, but come nightfall I'm as lonely and troubled as the next lot of men upon the sea. Ye need ter find something worth livin' fer, Jack, something worth dyin fer. Only then is yer time upon the sea worth remembrance."

Jack looked back at Elizabeth, who was covered in cream-colored sheets, but whose face protruded, her eyes closed.

" Ye've found yers, Jack. Let an old Captain find his." Barbossa clasped Jack's hand.

" If you need anything…" Jack started.

" This isn't good-bye, Jack," Barbossa said calmly. " Besides, I can find ye sure as I can find the North Star." He circled around to kneel beside Elizabeth. Holding her hand, and sighing as she opened her eyes slowly, he kissed it. " Thank ye, Mrs. Sparrow, for all Ye've done fer me and my fine crew. And fer this lad." He nodded to Jack. " 'Twill be some time afore I see ye again. Stay in good health."

Elizabeth nodded, smiling sleepily. " Be safe, Captain. Take what you can…" She yawned. " Give nothing back."

Barbossa patted her hand, then let it go. Donning his black plumed hat, he turned to leave. Stepping out onto the island's sands, outside of Pierre's door, he felt a fresh wind blow.

Jack and Pierre stood in the doorway, framed by the rising sun. " May Castor and Pollux guide you on your journey, Hector Barbossa!" Pierre called.

Barbossa tipped his hat as Elizabeth arrived behind Jack, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head on his shoulder. She blew Barbossa a kiss.

He smiled, though to some it may not have been a smile.

Jack called as Barbossa retreated further into the dense Caribbean forest, " Let no foul wind guide you astray, Captain!"

Taking a deep breath, Barbossa walked down to the shoreline, where his boat was anchored and moored. His crew stood waiting obediently. He stepped into the rising sun, a visage of black.

It was time to set them free.

And it was time for him to cast off his own chains.

* * *

Thank you all so much for reading, and for the continued encouragement and extremely positive reviews! I'm afraid this is the end for this fic, but there's much more Barbossa to come in my next fic, " Into the Rising Sun", in which Barbossa searches for a way to bring Noelle back and to avenge her death. Also, credit goes to JM Barrie and the writers of "Hook" for the basis for the line Elizabeth says above ("What would the world be like without Captain Barbossa/Hook?"). 


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